


six feet beneath the moon

by starseas



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseas/pseuds/starseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. takes place over one night. harry and louis meet at a going away party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	six feet beneath the moon

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone!! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) not sure how i feel about this one yet. it's been a while so i'm a bit rusty at this whole writing thing but i hope you still enjoy this at least a little bit. [here](http://8tracks.com/starseas/six-feet-beneath-the-moon) is a playlist to listen to, if you'd like. much love from me xx

The snow spins like a hurricane.

Louis watches it, his eyes going heavy with tiredness, and it’s not long before the snowflakes begin to blur together into nothing, into thousands and thousands of white stars melting into each other, becoming hazy, becoming a white sheet that falls down onto the lit up city streets, snow-choked and slush covered. It’s freezing out here.

People who say they like winter are full of shit.

It’s just months and months of snow and rain and cars that won’t bloody start, and hands that won’t stop shaking, not even when they’re in his jacket pockets, not even when he’s touching another person. Or maybe that’s just him, but whatever. It’s not like he’s gonna ask Zayn if he has trouble sleeping and talking and existing when it’s cold outside, too.

Because that’s fucking weird, and mates don’t talk about things like that.

Sighing, Louis digs a cigarette out of his back pocket and leans back against the brick wall of the pub, listening as the door opens and closes again somewhere a bit further down the street, laughter trickling out into the night. The sound is soft and far away like it’s been travelling for hours, and he doesn’t like the way it still seems so close, somehow.

This is dumb. This whole thing is just dumb.

He feels so out of his skin tonight for some reason. His hands keep fucking shaking and they won’t stop, and he wants to go home. The cigarette smoke lights his body on fire when he inhales, but he still feels frozen and he wants to go home, it’s just—he can’t.

He can’t go home, because it’s the first time he’s agreed to go anywhere since his break-up with El. He could go inside right now, actually, ‘cause the lads are probably half-drunk already, but at this point he’s having trouble even remembering why he showed up. It’s some going away party for a kid that he hasn’t even met, doesn’t even know the name of, but apparently he’s Niall’s mate and that’s supposed to be a good enough reason for Louis to be tagging along. It’s not, though, not really. At least not in Louis’ opinion.

And what kind of idiot throws their going away party on New Year’s Eve, anyways?

It’s like, morbid. Something about it is just really fucking morbid.

Mostly, Louis’ just pissed off because it’s _New Year’s Eve_ which means there was no way in hell that he’d get away with spending the night alone, in his flat, watching television static as it spins, spins, spins before falling asleep, alone, in his flat, waking up only when the windows started pouring light.

Instead, he’s stuck out here.

Leaning against the outside wall of a pub with the brick digging into his back, the slush of the sidewalk melting into his boots. His toes are numb and the shops across the street are still lit up with Christmas decorations, the strung lights blurring and casting pale light onto the street, making the snow look more yellow than white.

“Fuck,” Louis sighs, dropping his cigarette butt onto the ground.

It fizzles once it hits the slush, a small star dying out, and then—

“Lou? Is that you?” Someone says, and their voice is slow and too close, way too close. “Louis? Mate, holy shit, it’s been ages!”

Louis blinks, turning, and for a moment he’s lost but then the world shifts into focus and he realizes that it’s Niall right in front of him—Niall, his face reddened by the cold, eyes bright blue, the edges of him brightened by the streetlights. A few feet away, the pub door opens up again, laughter and light pouring out onto the sidewalk, and Louis blinks, looking back at Niall.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, hands in his pockets. “Sorry, I’ve been—I’ve been pretty shit.”

Niall grins. “You’re going through a rough time, Tommo, I get it. I’m not gonna judge you for that.” He breaks off, just watching Louis for a moment, and Louis’ body is frozen like he’s been breathing in snow. Niall tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing a bit. “Why are you still out here, though? The party started, like, half an hour ago, come on.”

It didn’t really, though, considering it's not an actual party.

It's more of a get together, and also, the Facebook invite said to show up whenever, and half an hour after everybody else is still whenever. He doesn’t point this out, though. Instead, he just glances sideways at Niall, watching the way he glows when he’s standing this close, and for a moment Louis’ so glad to have him that it hurts.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Louis sighs, but he’s grinning as he follows Niall back towards the pub door, the frozen slush crunching beneath his booted feet. “You’re so impatient.”

Niall rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Screw you, I’ve _been_ waiting.”

And yeah, Louis can’t really argue with that.

☆

Everything is much warmer inside the pub.

The sounds of traffic melt away as soon as the doors shut behind them, and then it’s just a blur of voices and laughter, soft yellow light making the edges of everything seem less sharp. There’s a television right over the bar but he can’t make out what’s playing from here—just the low murmur of the sound, blurred by everything else.It’s all dark wood and exposed brick walls in here, dark green booths filled up with people, all of them drinking, laughing, smoking, smiling, smiling, smiling—

He wonders if they can see it, how out of practice he is.

Fucking hell, he feels numb. His fingers are just starting to thaw out, and it’s a pins and needles feeling all the way down to his toes, but he doesn’t mind. He just follows Niall as he leads them towards a table at the back of the room, and he takes the beanie off of his head and shoves it back into his pocket, not really caring if his hair looks like shit.

“Just letting you know,” Niall starts, looking over his shoulder just before they reach the table. “Don’t be freaked out if they’re surprised to see you, yeah? I forgot to tell them—”

And then they’re at the table, and Niall’s being cut off by another voice, low and amused.

“Sorry, mate, but do we know you?” Zayn asks, looking up at Louis with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

There’s a ceiling light hanging low over the booth table, brightening the lines of Zayn’s face, and he’s wearing a black pea coat and a black snapback and it’s strange how that would look fucking ridiculous on anyone else but Zayn makes it work, somehow. Zayn smirks, and it’s enough to bring Louis back to earth.

“Shut up,” he says. “It’s been like, three weeks.”

But he’s flushing all the way up to his neck, because everyone at the table—they’re all staring right at him, and this is exactly the kind of attention that he’d been trying to avoid. And like, he kind of wants to go back outside suddenly, back onto the street where the cold makes his hands ache, where he can inhale smoke and set his body on fire, make himself warm again.

“Three months, more like,” Zayn says, but there’s a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you died or something.”

“Right,” Louis says, running a hand through his hair. “Well, sorry about that. Really, I’ve been—it’s been weird, lately.”

Zayn just looks at him for a moment before nodding. “It has, yeah.”

For some reason it seems important for people to know that he wasn’t always like this, that he wasn’t always cold and drawn away, a planet moving on his own, spinning just outside of the universe. It’s fucked up, but he doesn’t know how to explain it—the fact that he just needed time _alone,_ alone in his flat, in his thoughts, in his head.

Even in the warmth of the pub, his hands shake.

“It _has_ been a while though, hasn’t it?” Liam grins, his eyes crinkling. “Jesus. How’d Niall even get you out here?”

“He’d said there’d be alcohol,” Louis admits, at the same time Niall says, “I threatened to piss on everything he loves,” around the mouth of a beer bottle.

“That’s always nice,” Liam smiles, and then: “Sit down, then. I’ll strain my neck if I’m looking up at you all night.” 

Louis slides into the circular booth beside Niall, both of them sitting across from Zayn and Liam. There’s some lanky looking bloke sitting on the other side of Zayn, and Louis vaguely recognizes him as one of Zayn’s pretentious artsy friends but he can’t really place him, so he stays quiet, but it turns out that staying quiet is pretty useless when it comes to Zayn’s pretentious artsy friends.

“What happened then? I’m curious,” The guy says, his eyes wide and intense, flickering back between Niall and Louis like he’ll find something in the space between their heads. “Oh, sorry, that was rude of me. I’m Nick Grimshaw, nice to meet you.”

Louis nods. “I’m Louis.”

“So I’ve heard,” Nick says, grinning. “No, but really, Louis, I’d love to know. What was it? Bad break-up? Rehab stint? Your mates are going on like you’re a bloody missing persons case.”

“Shut _up_ , Nicholas,” Zayn says.

Louis’ still stuck on the fact that Nick just pronounced his name _Lewis,_ and no, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t like him much. He’s one of those people that makes Louis feel like he’s been out in the rain all day and hasn’t got a chance to change into clean clothes yet, and it’s like, fuck. He really should’ve stayed home.

“Sorry, I’m being a dick. Forget I asked,” Nick says, raising up his hands. He seems to lose interest before Louis even responds, though: he starts looking around the pub, his eyebrows furrowed. “Also, where the fuck is Harold? This is his fucking party—”

Louis tunes out when Niall nudges his shoulder, sliding a cup of beer towards him across the table. “Have a drink, mate. It’s New Year’s.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, but he can’t quite bring himself to smile.

It’s a bit quieter after that, at least for him. The other people at the table all drift back into their own conversations, and he likes that, being able to just watch—there’s a girl with pink hair that he doesn’t know, there’s some guy with red hair and a big grin, and Louis assumes they’re mates with the guy that this whole thing was planned for, although the pink-haired girl does look like someone more Zayn’s type. He doesn’t talk to anyone else. He just keeps taking small sips from his cup, letting the beer run bitter down his throat, and he likes the way it dizzies him a little.

Suddenly, the idea of getting drunk seems so appealing.

He wants the world to tilt and whirl around him, all of the holiday decorations in the pub turning into nothing but spinning lights, carousel rides, a comet tail that stretches on and on and on.

☆

He’s not sure how he ends up alone at the bar, but he does.

He’s hiding again, he knows it, but it’s hard to bring himself to care when it’s still two hours until midnight and the voices around him are all turning into smoke. The small television is still on the local news station, hung up right above the place where he’s sitting, so he keeps his eyes on that, trying to look like the type of person that doesn’t want to be spoken to—

Apparently, there’s been a three car pile-up on the highway.

Louis can almost see it clearly, somehow: the winter, the speed, the headlights moving like the tails of comets. He frowns, imagining the way the bodies broke apart like meteor showers, the way the beat-up cars were all hurdling towards the same place before they crashed, before they burned, exploding into flames.

And the thing is, Louis’ still shivering.

It’s almost impossible to get warm, to _feel_ warm, for more than a few seconds these days. He’s glad he got to see the lads, because really, he loves them, and he knows he’s a shit friend, but they’re all treating him like he’s some sort of burn victim, like they can’t get too close or else they’ll hurt him. It’s bullshit, and it’s even more bullshit because it’s Louis’ bloody fault. It is. It’s his fault, and he knows it.

He keeps forgetting how to talk.

At some point, the bartender comes around to take his order and Louis ends up sitting at the bar alone with a shot of straight whiskey, which is somehow even more depressing than when he was just sitting on his own, period. Still, the idea of getting drunk tonight is pretty nice, so. He won’t complain.

He’s already half done his drink when the chair next to him is sliding out and someone’s sitting down right next to him. The guy’s warm, but he’s way too close, and his shoulder bumps against Louis’ as he gets comfortable.

Fuck this, honestly. This isn’t what Louis wanted at all.

Quickly, he glances over to see if the guy is someone that he knows, and when all he sees is some guy with curly hair poking out from under a beanie, the soft lights strung around the bar making him look soft—Louis looks away again, because, thank god, he’s never seen this bloke before in his life. Part of him suddenly wants to get up and go back to where Niall and Zayn and Liam are, even if he does have to deal with that fucking Grimshaw character for the rest of the night, but that would kind of make him look like a dick, wouldn’t it? So instead, he keeps his gaze down, watching his hand as he moves ice around in his cup with a straw.

With nothing else to do, he ends up half-listening as Curly beside him laughs, ordering a Sex on the Beach, and Louis rolls his eyes at that. He can’t even help it. What kind of grown adult still giggles at the word sex?

Taking another sip of his scotch, Louis winces slightly at the taste.

He thinking about his flat instead. His flat, his living room couch, the television static, the quiet. The darkness. The space. God. He wants to go home, but it’s barely been an hour and he knows he’ll get shit if he tries to leave now.

“Want a blowjob?” Someone says, somewhere else, talking to someone that Louis doesn’t know.

Hell, he sort of wants to look and see who asked who that, who they said it to, just to see if it's obvious how much they want each other just by looking at them. Louis can't even remember the last time he touched someone, the last time he _meant_ it. He can't remember what it felt like being touched either, but he does remember that it was raining outside and the lightening was brightening the room in flashes, it was hurricane season, but he wasn't in love and he stayed—

“Hey, you,” someone says, and the voice is more direct now, it’s much closer, so Louis looks towards the sound.

The curly-haired lad is staring right at him, his green eyes darkened by the dim light of the pub, and it seems like they're sitting too close together, way too close together, but Louis stays still and stares back, a bit confused. The boy doesn’t even look old enough to be in here. His eyebrows furrow. “Sorry?”

Curly’s mouth tilts up, just a bit. “I said, do you want a blowjob?”

“No?” Louis asks, blinking. Curly is watching him with amusement in his eyes and Louis doesn’t like this, feeling like he’s the punch line to some inside joke. He shakes his head again, because the guy hasn’t looked away yet, so he must be waiting for something. “No, I…don’t.” He sort of wants to laugh, honestly, because this night has just been so fucked up. “That’s a weird question.”

“Weird?” Curly repeats, looking offended. He’s not really offended though—his mouth is curled into a smile around the lip of his glass, and he takes a sip of it before slamming it back onto the bar table, the ice cubes clinking together. Curly looks straight at Louis, and he’s still grinning. “You’re an asshole, mate. I’m trying to do something nice over here, talking to you.”

Louis makes a face, his voice low. “By asking.” He pauses, trying to find a way to say it. “By asking to suck my dick?”

The curly boy laughs at that, his eyes widening. Louis tries not to like the sound. “Hey, fuck you, I never said that! I never—oh, come on, I asked you if you _wanted_ a blowjob, I didn’t ask if you wanted me to _give_ you one. Think about it.”

“Styles, stop harassing my customers or I’ll boot you out onto the streets,” the bartender says, looking over from where he’s standing at the other end of the bar, cleaning wine glasses. “You hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Curly nods, grinning. “Sorry, Paul.”

The bartender—Paul, apparently—rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he goes back to wiping down the glasses, and the curly boy looks back at Louis, the low light of the pub casting shadows over his face.

Louis blinks, unsure. “So, if I’d said yes—”

“I’d have said, man, that sucks, so do I,” he replies, smiling wide. There’s something about him that’s hard to look away from, and Louis’ not sure if he likes him yet because he’s had a hard time liking anybody lately, but it’s not like he _dislikes_ him.

“That’s fucked up,” Louis says. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“Yeah, and I don’t know who _you_ are,” Curly says, and the Christmas lights roped around the bar are throwing bits of pink and blue and green across his hair and face, and Louis, for a moment, is mesmerized by it. “But in the last five minutes, you’ve probably thought about me sucking you off at _least_ twice. Right?”

“That’s—no, I haven’t,” Louis says, shaking his head. He decides not to mention the fact that he’s never thought about doing _anything_ with any boy at all, but Curly grins and even though Louis doesn’t find him funny in the slightest, he can’t quite bring himself to leave. “I really haven’t. Promise.”

Louis glances over his shoulder for a moment, back towards his table to see if any of the lads are seeing this, but none of them are looking his way, so he faces forwards again.

“Me neither,” Curly says, all nonchalant, like this is a normal topic of conversation for two people who have never met before, two people who don’t even know each other’s names. “But I might think about it later on, when I get bored. We’ll see.”

“Is this what you do when you’re bored, then?” Louis asks, suddenly curious for a reason that he doesn’t understand. The news station is still playing in the background, the footage of that three car pile-up on repeat: a snow-choked road, bruising metal, car-doors peeling back like flower petals, and then there’s that feeling again—the hurdling, the crashing, the exploding into flames. Louis raises an eyebrow. “You ask strangers about wanting blowjobs?”

“Yeah. That and I let them touch my hair,” Curly grins.

Louis blinks. “And that works for you?”

“I know, it’s insane,” he says, smiling, and Louis’ not really sure what to say to that, so he says nothing.

It’s weird, how they don’t know each other at all but maybe they could know each other. And maybe Louis would try harder if he _felt_ like knowing anybody right now, but he doesn’t, not really. He still kind of feels like going home and sitting on his balcony with a bunch of blankets and a bottle of beer, watching the snow as it falls, as it keeps falling, as it blankets everything.

There’s something so nice about being alone, he knows that—

It’s just that here, in the dimly lit pub with the Christmas lights and the voices and the music playing on repeat—here, where the scotch is burning his throat and he can feel another person’s warmth against his shoulder, heady and remote, he’s having a bit of trouble remembering exactly what that something _is_.

Clearing his throat, Louis changes the subject, turning back towards the curly-haired boy. “Are you here for that going away thing, then?”

The boy looks at him, eyes wide like he’s about to laugh. “That _going away thing_? Is that what they’re calling it?” He asks, and then he’s shaking his head before taking a small sip of his drink, licking his lips, smiling at Louis in a way that glows. “I’m only leaving for eight months, they’re acting like it’s my funeral—”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Oh. You’re the—”

“Harold!” Someone shouts from the other side of the pub, and Louis glances over to see Nick Grimshaw standing at the table near the back, waving his arm around like he’s drowning. Louis blinks, watching as Curly looks back towards Nick, a smile breaking across his face as he rolls his eyes. Nick cups his hands around his mouth. “You’re leaving in less than twenty-four hours, popstar! Where’s the love?”

“I’ll be there in a second,” Curly laughs, and then he’s turning back towards Louis with a grin on his face. “My name’s not Harold, by the way.”

“Good,” Louis nods. “Neither is mine.”

“It’s a terrible name,” the boy says, his smile growing even wider. There’s something magnetic about it, his smile. It makes everything feel warmer, but Louis doesn’t think too hard about that. “I’m Harry Styles.”

“And you’re a popstar?” Louis asks.

“Not yet,” Harry shrugs. “I’m in a band. We’re not very good.”

“Well, at least you know,” Louis replies, and then, because Harry’s still just smiling him, he adds, “I’m Louis.”

“That’s a good name, Louis. I like that one,” Harry says, and before Louis gets the chance to respond to that, he’s standing up, right in the space between Louis’ open legs and the back of the bar stool that he was just sitting in. “Hey, thanks for coming,” he says, and then he’s leaning in and wrapping one arm around Louis’ shoulders, patting his back—and he’s warm, he’s too warm, he’s like a furnace—and his mouth is right by Louis’ ear when he says, “Stay good, mate. Happy New Year’s.”

Louis nods. “Happy New Year’s.”

And then Harry’s pulling back and moving away completely, grinning once before turning and melting into the crowd. Louis watches him go, just for a moment, before turning back towards his drink.

Paul refilled it at some point, but Louis doesn’t want it anymore.

Yet: He drinks it anyways, hoping that the buzz makes his head spin a little bit more, that it gets rid of the warmth of a hand against his back, a voice against his ear, green eyes like leaves on the surface of a pool. Louis sighs, letting the alcohol burn his throat. There’s a different program on the telly now, and it’s a countdown to New Year’s, a bunch of smiling faces in the city. It’s still more than an hour until midnight and he can’t leave yet, so he just sits alone at the bar, watching his hands.

It’s not until they start shaking again that he realizes they’d stopped.

☆

Somehow, somehow, he ends up back outside.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Liam asks, his thick eyebrows furrowing as he frowns, hands shoved deep inside his pockets. They’re standing right outside the pub, feet placed at the edge of the curb, and Louis’ eyes are on the traffic: the slow crawl of the headlights, the tires crunching over snow, the bars of twin brightness flashing over them as the cars pass. Liam glances at him, concerned. “You’ve only been here an hour. New Year’s is in like ten minutes, why don’t you just stay until then?”

“Nah, it’s alright, mate,” Louis says. “I’m tired. I’ll see you, though.”

Liam frowns. “No, you won’t.”

“Liam—”

The taxi pulls up at the curb then, blue exhaust smoke pouring out into the dark like breath, but Louis knows he can’t leave until he’s got Liam back on his side again, until Liam understands.

“Liam, it’s not like that, alright? I’m just tired—”

“You’re always tired,” Liam snaps, and Louis’ eyes widen because this is probably the most straight forward that Liam’s ever been about anything, and he’s not sure he likes it. He stays quiet anyways, watching as Liam sighs, rubbing a thumb across his eyebrow. It’s fucking cold outside and the traffic has slowed down, and both of them are shivering. In the air, their breath is white. “Louis, is this—I mean, is this still about Eleanor? ‘Cause I understand if you’re broken up about it, I was the same way after Danielle, but you can’t just keep shutting us out.”

“I’m not broken up about it,” Louis says, honest.

Liam sighs, looking tired. “I just feel like you’re disappearing.”

“I’m not. I’m right here,” Louis says, and he wishes that he could explain how his radio silence has nothing to do with Eleanor and what she might have meant to him. He wishes he could explain the way he’s feeling right now—lost in his head, dizzy in the worst way. But he can’t. It’s winter and the air is cold and he won’t stop shaking. It’s winter and the air is cold and he can’t remember how to talk. “Li, I’m right here, alright? I’m just tired. I love you like hell, but I’m fucking tired and I want to go home.”

“Well,” Liam says after a moment. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

Louis blinks, but before he even gets the chance to respond, Liam’s turning around and walking back towards the club, frozen slush crunching beneath his booted feet. And Louis knows he should stay. He knows that if he were a better friend, he’d be inside ordering everybody drinks and telling everyone about that one time that Zayn dyed his hair blonde, but. Like he said. He’s tired, and he can’t.

When he turns back around, the taxi is gone.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, scrubbing both hands down his face.

The sidewalk is empty, just a few people stumbling by every now and then, and Louis honestly feels like he could just lie down in the snow right here and fall asleep. He’s a bit buzzed from all the refills at the bar, and the streetlights look a little blurrier than usual, but his thoughts all sound clear enough in his head, so he takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it up, going back to stand against the pub wall.

“Smoking can kill you, you know,” someone says, and Louis blinks.

“That’s actually brand new information,” he says, watching as Harry steps closer, letting the pub door fall shut behind him. It takes the laughter and the light with it, and then it’s just the two of them standing on the snow-covered street, music muffled like it’s coming from oceans away. “Thanks for telling me.”

“No worries, Lou.” Harry grins. “Why are you out here?”

“Waiting,” Louis says, nodding towards the street. He tries not to think about what Harry just called him, because that would probably make him feel even dizzier than he does now. “For a taxi, I mean.”

“You’re leaving already?” Harry asks, almost offended. “You can’t just leave.”

“You’re annoying,” Louis says, not sure if he’s kidding or not. “Why can’t I leave?”

“Because it’s my party, and it’s almost New Year’s,” Harry replies, frowning like he’s actually listed good reasons for Louis to stay, like it would be absurd for Louis to still consider leaving after he said all that. Harry stares at him, the lights from inside the pub brightening one half of his face. “What would you be doing on your own at midnight, anyways?”

Louis shrugs. “What would I being doing at midnight with you?”

Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling as he shakes his head, and his curls are still poking out from under his dark blue beanie. He’s wearing a flannel button down underneath his jumper, and dark jeans with rips in the knees. He looks stupid, saying, “We could do anything you want.”

Louis thinks about that. “I want to go to sleep.”

“I could go to sleep with you,” Harry suggests, looking genuine.

Louis laughs at that, a sudden sound that surprises him. Harry is fucking weird, like. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever meant someone so ridiculous in his life, and for some reason he’s grinning, he’s actually smiling and his hands don’t feel so cold anymore. “No, I don’t—you’re not coming to sleep with me, mate. It’s not happening.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I don’t mean it like that.”

Louis just stares at him, grinning as he exhales smoke, liking the way the cigarette feels warm between his fingers. A few feet away, the pub door falls open and music and laughter float out into the night, a drunken couple stumbling down the sidewalk, and the bright golden light on the side of Harry’s face is a dream. Louis breathes in again, and Harry’s eyes flicker down to his mouth, just for a moment, before they’re back on his eyes again.

“I’m not a stalker or anything,” Harry says, out of nowhere.

Louis nods. “That’s always good.”

“No, I mean, like,” Harry starts again, looking frustrated with himself. He frowns, and Louis finds himself distracted by the way his eyelashes make a web of shadow across his cheekbones, ghostly, pale. He looks like winter. “I was bored in there, and you made me a bit less bored, and I’m leaving in eight hours, so. I don’t know. I asked you about wanting a blowjob. That was weird. I’m not usually like this.” He pauses, looking straight at Louis. “Well, yes I am. Just not with strangers. You’re making me feel weird.”

A moment passes before Louis laughs, his blue eyes crinkling. “How much did you drink?”

“I didn’t,” Harry frowns, but the corner of his mouth tilts up when Louis keeps laughing, the sound of it echoing out into the night. Their breath is white and they’re standing close together against the brick wall of the pub, so close that Louis can feel Harry’s warmth burning into his shoulder. Harry grins, shaking his head. “Hey, shut up. I’m not drunk. I was just bored.”

“But it’s your party,” Louis says. “How could you be bored?”

Harry looks at him. “Weren’t you bored?”

“Nah,” Louis says, shrugging a bit. “Not bored. Just not feeling it.”

Harry laughs. “Right, I forgot. You want to sleep.”

Louis smiles a bit at that, but he stays quiet, listening to the faraway sounds of traffic. Every now and then, a car passes by, and the headlights make everything brighter—the snow, the red brick of the buildings, the pale side of Harry’s face—before it turns the corner and they’re left standing alone again, alone in the dim-lit darkness, just the sounds of their breathing and the whiteness of their breath touching air.

A moment later, Harry says, “I think we should kiss.”

Louis drops his cigarette to the floor, putting it out beneath his boot as he laughs. “You think we should—no. No, we shouldn’t.”

Harry gives him a look, the corner of his mouth tilted up like Louis’ the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “One minute left until New Year’s, mate. You should kiss me then.”

Louis stares at him. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be nineteen in two months,” Harry says, smiling dopily. “Now that you know, you’ve got to send me a birthday card in the mail.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t even know where you’re going.”

Harry shrugs, still grinning. “Neither do I.”

“Alright, well,” Louis starts, pushing himself off of the wall and turning so that he’s facing Harry, their bodies just inches apart. “This is the last time I’m ever going to kiss you.”

He can feel Harry’s warmth like this, and he watches Harry as Harry watches him back, the winter air around them suddenly feeling heavier, deeper, like they’re standing underwater instead of on a street corner, instead of in the snow. Leaning in, Louis places each of his hands on either side of Harry’s face, thumbs brushing Harry’s jaw, and he hates that he likes the way Harry’s mouth falls open at the touch.

Harry frowns at that, and for a moment he looks like he’s about to put up a fight, but then Louis’s moving in a bit closer, nosing along Harry’s cheek, and Harry’s nodding, breathing out, “Okay.”

The pub door opens then, but the two of them don’t move.

Clinking glass and laughter trickles outside again, along with the slow strains of some song that Louis’ never heard before, and then, above all of that, there are the voices. Low, steady, an ocean wave, all of them are counting down to midnight— _ten, nine, eight, seven_ —

Beneath Louis’ fingers, Harry’s face is burning up.

 _Six, five, four, three_ —

Louis watches Harry and Harry grins, wide and reckless beneath his gaze. The fairy lights hanging overhead making his skin look yellow, and Louis’ thinking that this is crazy, this is just so crazy, because he’s about to kiss someone he just met but his hands aren’t shaking. He’s about to kiss someone he just met but on Harry’s face, his hands are still.

“Keep your mouth closed,” Louis says, leaning in.

His lips end up pressed to the corner of Harry’s mouth, and it would’ve been just fine if Harry didn’t shift his face to meet him, their mouths touching and making lightning shake through Louis’ body, bright, electric, and then they’re kissing, and Harry keeps his mouth shut which is surprising but good.

He’s more than good. He’s the warmest thing for miles.

“Happy New Year’s,” Harry breathes, right against Louis’ mouth.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, and when Harry pulls away, Louis tracks the movement with soft-focused eyes, and they look at each other for a second before leans in again.

He doesn’t kiss Harry’s mouth, though.

He’s moving in and pressing small kisses to Harry’s nose, his chin, his cheekbones, both of his eyelids. His skin is really soft, which is surprising since it’s so cold.

When he pulls away again, Harry’s eyes are wide.

Louis grins. “What?”

“You just,” Harry starts, “You just kissed my eyelids.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and his voice is flat, but his heart is beating like crazy. “Figured since it’s the only time I’m ever going to kiss you, might as well go all in.”

Harry frowns. “Are you really never going to kiss me again?”

“Yeah, liked I said. Last time.” Louis replies, and honestly, it’s way more than just sticking to his word. When it comes down to it, he can’t forget the fact that Harry’s leaving this place as soon as the sun comes up—nothing in this moment is permanent, and it’s not a bad thing or a good thing, it’s just something that he needs to remember. They’re still standing very close together, Louis’ hands on Harry’s face, and he glances down at Harry’s mouth again before moving away fully, shadows falling onto the place where he used to be. “Hey,” Louis says. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I can’t believe you just kissed my eyelids,” Harry grins, and then a moment later he’s frowning, like he’s remembering something. “And now you’re telling me I’m not supposed to want it—”

“Oh, shut the hell up, man,” Louis laughs, his eyes crinkling. A car passes down the street, headlights brightening Harry’s face before they’re left in the dim orange darkness again. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I knew you were gonna cry about it all night.”

Harry smiles at that. “Shut up.”

Just as Louis’ about to respond, there’s the sound of tires crunching snow, and the honking of a horn close by. Louis blinks, glancing over his shoulder to see a taxi cab waiting by the curb, the windows frosted over, smoke from the tail pipe floating up into the dark. Louis thinks about his flat again, about the static darkness and the quiet, the silver of a television screen, the hazy warmth of too much to drink.

He’s not sure how he feels about it, but the cab is right there, so.

“Right, well,” Louis starts, turning back towards Harry. “Have fun wherever you’re going, yeah? Stay out of trouble.”

Harry blinks at that, his wide green gaze flickering to the cab and then back to Louis again. “Do you want to come to the beach with me, maybe? I know it’s late notice, but there’s this party—”

Louis shakes his head. “I should get going, actually. I’m a bit—”

“Tired, right,” Harry finishes, his grin fading a bit. Louis blinks, staring, and he’s not sure why he’s suddenly finding it so hard to breathe. Harry’s mouth is bright red in the streetlight dimness, swollen with kisses or from the cold, Louis’ not sure. Either way, the look of it makes his throat go dry, makes his hands clench into fists at his sides. Harry shrugs, his hands shoved into his pockets. “No worries. Have a good night, Louis.”

“Yeah, you too.” Louis nods, stepping towards the cab. “Have a good trip.”

Harry just nods, steps back, and waves. “I’ll see you around.”

Louis doubts it.

☆

When he gets back to his flat, the phone is ringing.

At first he thinks it’s a police siren, hollow and far away, but when he closes his door behind him and the noise becomes shrill, sharp and way too loud against the silence, he realizes that the ringing is in fact coming from inside his apartment. Frowning, he tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter.

“Oh, shut up,” Louis mutters, wiping a hand down his face.

He’s not sure who it is, but he’s guessing that it’s one of the lads considering he left the pub without saying goodbye to anyone but Liam. Which was rude of him, yeah, but he just doesn’t feel like talking right now. He doesn’t feel like explaining himself, how he’s feeling, so instead he just makes his way into the kitchen, noticing the way that the light of the buttons on the stove makes everything in here seem soft and dark blue, underwater-like. He puts the kettle on, sets out a mug for tea.

The window above the sink is cracked open a bit, and snow-filled air rushes in.

When he reaches the fridge, Louis opens it up and sticks his head inside.

Inside, it’s bright and humming, but there’s bloody nothing in there, just a few bottles of beer and a take-out container from two nights ago. He wonders what Liam would say about it before he makes himself stop wondering, because him and Liam probably aren’t on the best terms right now.

The refrigerator air is a shock against his skin.

Louis sighs, shutting his eyes, letting the hum of the kettle calm him down a bit. For a moment, he’s somewhere else—sinking down into a deep blue dimness, a place with nothing but ice white glaciers and whale sounds—but shit, it’s hard to stay there when the phone’s ringing like a fucking siren through the flat, when he can still feel Harry’s mouth, chapped, gentle, against his.

Suddenly, Liam’s voice in his ear: _I feel like you’re disappearing._

Louis laughs, opening his eyes again. He fucking wishes.

Grabbing a beer, Louis shuts the fridge and moves back out into the living room. His movements sound loud against the silence, and the lights are off so he keeps them that way, just flopping down on the sofa with a sigh. The television is off, and Louis keeps it that way. The room is dark. He likes it, though. He likes the way he can only see the edges of the everything.

Moonlight washes in through the balcony window, turning everything silver.

The ringing stops, and then there’s a beeping sound before a familiar voice is pouring out into the silence.

“Louis, hi,” the voice says, and Louis sits up a bit, his eyes widening. What the _fuck_. “It’s, me.”

And that’s bullshit, because what the hell is that supposed to mean? Who just calls somebody up in the middle of the night and says _it’s me_ like they’re that important, like Louis will know exactly who’s on the other end just from hearing their voice.

Well, he knows it’s Eleanor, but that’s not the point.

“I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I just wanted to check in on you. See how you’re doing.” She pauses, and there’s the muffled sound of someone talking to her in the background. It’s a moment before she’s speaking back into the phone again. Louis leans forward, hands positioned under his chin like he’s praying for something. “I want to make sure there aren’t any hard feelings between us. I know it’s late, you’re probably out celebrating—”

Louis wants to get up, unplug the phone cord.

His flat feels smaller than it did just a second ago, and Eleanor’s voice seems to come through every wall.

Someone’s whispering on the other end, a low voice. There are a lot of voices, actually, and Eleanor’s laughing, because of course she is. It’s New Year’s and Louis’ probably the only one in the whole fucking city who’s holed up in his flat, alone, in the dark. He wishes he at least turned the television on, made it look like he was doing something other than just sitting here, but he didn’t. He doesn’t.

It’s just him and the moon, the silver strips of light across the floor.

Finally, Eleanor says, “I just—I’m really, really hoping we can still be friends. I miss having you to talk to. Call me back when you get the chance, yeah? We can meet up for coffee, and you could meet Max if you’d like.” There’s a small pause. “Alright, well, I’m off. Happy New Year’s, Louis.”

And then the line’s gone dead, dial tone swimming in the silence.  

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, the word dragged right out of him. He scrubs a hand down his face before placing them on the couch on either side of his thighs. It’s quiet for a moment before, with more heat behind it, he says again: “ _Fuck._ ”

Honest to god, he hasn’t spoken to Eleanor since three months ago when they broke up. Well, she came and got her stuff a few weeks after that, but he didn’t say a word to her. And it’s not like he’s still—he doesn’t love her or anything, he knows that, knows that it’s been that way for a while. But that’s not the point. The point is that, for some reason, he’s still letting it get to him. He’s spending New Year’s alone in his flat like a bloody ghost while the rest of the city is lit up and sparkling, snow turning green, red, and yellow beneath the traffic lights.

This is actually so beyond pathetic that he almost wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.

He just sighs, thinking about the beach again.

Harry mentioned a party, didn’t he? Louis’ not really sure how he feels about showing up at some place where he doesn’t know anybody, but he doesn’t feel like going back to the pub, either. He doesn’t want to deal with people that know he’s been shit lately. Hell. Maybe he should just go to bed and forget that this night ever happened. Maybe he should just close his eyes and let the dark become a shore, pulling everything away.

“Alright,” he says, to himself. He moves to stand up.

When he glances down, he realizes that he never took his shoes off. Maybe that means something.

☆

It’s pitch-black, and the only sound Louis can hear is the ocean.

His feet sink into the snow as he walks. On one side of him, there’s the ocean, frosted over with snow, and then on the other side there’s a broken fence that winds itself up the beach. It almost like he’s trapped inside of a snow globe, just him and the waves that sound distant, far away, close up at the same time.

It shouldn’t be this dark out. Louis exhales.

Tilting his head down against the cold, he watches his feet as he travels up the beach. He can hardly see them, but he watches them anyways. He’s not exactly sure where Harry said to meet him. There’s only one ocean, though, and it can only go on for so long, and there  can only be so many parties. Worst come to worst, he’ll end up at the amusement park by the pier. It’s probably frozen this time of year, just a red and blue carousel against the black sky, but sometimes they put the lights on just for fun. Sighing, Louis shoves his hands into his pockets. The cold air makes his skin feel tight.

Further down on the shore, a couple of people are hanging around a fire, but it just looks like a spark of light against the black sky from here. Louis can almost feel the warmth of it. Almost.

He ends up hearing the music before he sees the house.

It seems to rush out into the air all at once, going from not there to everywhere in less than a second. It’s all over the place. Louis can almost feel it echoing in his belly, louder than the crashing waves, but it takes him another minute of walking before the beach house actually comes into view, lit up against the midnight sky. It’s massive, windows looking like squares of golden light. The Christmas lights wrapped around the banisters are rainbow colored and twinkling, blue and pink and green, and the beach house itself is panelled and painted turquoise.

“Oh, shit,” Louis huffs, laughing to himself.

He stands there for a couple minutes, just a few yards away from the house, looking up at it. Music keeps spilling outside and there are people crowded onto the wraparound porch, holding cigarettes and sparklers. Louis blinks, glancing back the way he came.

He doesn’t let himself turn around.

☆

When he walks into the house, everything hits him all at once.

Louis’ eyes widen as he looks around. Shit. It’s even bigger than it looked on the outside. Right in front of the door, there’s a narrow stairway that leads upstairs, and it’s packed with people. Louis’ seeing them all through a blue veil of smoke. The Christmas lights wrapped around the banister toss pieces of blue and pink and green light over faces, and upstairs, people are running back and forth with sparklers.

Glowing planets, lost, spinning, and tumbling through the dark.

Music is pouring out from speakers somewhere in the house, making it hard to think, and the words echo out:

_Although it’s late, I guess I’ll give it one more try, even though it’s hard to think we’ll find your keys in the dark._

_Stay tonight, it won’t change how we feel._

Past the stairway, the hall stretches down and opens up into a room that looks like a kitchen from here, but Louis can’t really tell with all the people in the way. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he starts to push his way through the crowd on his tip toes, scanning over the unfamiliar faces as they change beneath the flashing light. A few people glance at him as he passes by them, their features blurry in the blue-colored dimness, and Louis flashes a grin at them because, fuck it. He doesn’t know anybody here, and it already feels easier to breathe.

The crowd is thick, and Louis’ not quite sure where Harry is, so he just keeps moving.

Laughter is everywhere, heavy like rain, and there’s the feel of jackets and winter coats brushing up against his skin as he pushes through the crowd—there’s the smoke, the beer, the whirling static outside, the indoor sound.

Passing by a bathroom, Louis catches a glimpse two people kissing in the hazy blue smoke, the bathtub running even though nobody’s in it, and the window, wide open, cold air rushing in—and then he’s startling back as the door shuts in his face. Oh, okay. Right.

He starts walking again, stumbling a bit as people push past him.

For a moment, he’s confused, lost in his own head—

 

And then a space in the crowd opens up, just a shifting of heads, and he sees Harry a distance away. He’s standing right outside the kitchen doorway with his back against the wall and a red cup in his hand, laughing as he talks with some guy that Louis doesn’t know, has never seen before.

For a moment, Louis just stands there, watching him.

It’s so weird how Harry’s actually a real person. Like, it’s not like Louis thought he was a _fake_ person before, it’s that inside the club he’d seemed like some sort of fever dream, or something that showed up to keep Louis from getting too bored. But now Louis’ here, and Harry’s here, in this beach house that looks like a drop of mint ice cream. The Christmas lights roped along the ceiling turn the whole world into a firework show.

Harry’s face is half-hidden in the dark, the rest of it lit up green.

It’s slow motion when he turns his face, eyes wandering around the party as the lad he’s standing with keeps talking in his ear. Louis doesn’t move, just stands still as people spill past him.

When their stares finally meet, Harry’s eyes widen as a grin stretches his mouth. Louis just shrugs. He’s surprised, too.

Harry’s smile gets even bigger and Louis walks towards him, watching as Harry pats the older man on the back before pushing himself off the wall and moving towards Louis, the lights coloring him green and then pink and then blue. Only a second passes before they’re standing right in front of each other.

“Look who showed up,” Harry shouts over the music, eyes bright. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“Yeah, well, sorry to shatter that dream,” Louis says, but he’s grinning. They stand there together pressed against the wall, facing each other. The hallway is narrow and packed with people, and Louis crosses his arms over his chest, making a face as he shouts: “Thought I’d come see what all the fuss was about. _Major_ let down, Curly, I’m disappointed in you.”

Harry laughs at that, the sound lost to the music. “Screw you, this is great. Want a drink?”

Louis nods, and then they’re moving through the crowd again. At some point between the hallway and the kitchen, Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulders, and Louis doesn’t usually like that—being guided—but he’s lost to the feeling and Harry is warm against his side.

Inside the kitchen, the window open over the sink is letting cold air in.

It’s a bit brighter in here, the whole room crisscrossed with moonlight, and the walls are half-wooden and half-mustard yellow paint. People are crowded around the island in the middle of the kitchen, and Louis stays near the doorway as Harry walks over to the backyard door and slides it open, bending down to pick up something on the porch floor before sliding it shut again, turning around to make his way back to Louis.

“Please tell me you didn’t just pick that off the ground,” Louis says, once Harry reaches him.

It’s kind of hard to hear his own voice.

“Yeah, sorry. Apparently Caroline forgot the ice,” Harry says, and he rolls his eyes when Louis just keeps frowning at him. He’s smiling, though, and the sight of him makes Louis feel like he’s already drunk. “What’s the problem? You want me to put in my pants and warm it up for you? Or I could—”

“ _Screw you_ is what you could do _,_ ” Louis says, grabbing the drink. He takes a sip, making a face when he swallows. “This is disgusting, but thanks.”

He takes another sip, though, liking the way it makes his head feel fuzzy like a TV screen.

“I’ll do that, and you can watch if you want,” Harry laughs, and then Louis’ rolling his eyes and leaving the room, letting Harry follow after him. They end up standing in the doorway of the living room. It’s dark inside, but there’s a television playing some grainy film in black and white, everything is stuttering in and out of darkness. The edges of two people are lit up as they sit sprawled together on the couch, beer bottles littered across the coffee table and empty red cups littered on the floor. Looking closer, Louis notices that there’s silver tinsel roped along the ceiling, the shiny bits of it catching light.

“It’s the moon landing,” Harry says, voice loud over the music.

Louis blinks up at Harry. “What?”

“On the telly,” Harry says, grinning down at Louis like he’s being amusing or something. Louis turns back towards the television, but he’s mostly listening to Harry as he speaks into Louis’ ear. “Tom’s obsessed. He watches it every New Year’s ‘cause he thinks it’s magic.”

In the living room, the moon landing is still playing on a loop, just black and white footage in a dark room, and the guy on the couch—Tom, Louis realizes—is sitting with his profile half-drenched in the television light. He’s not watching the screen, he’s just watching the girl beside him with a soft smile on his face.

Louis blinks. “Why would he think that?”

Harry shrugs, a movement that Louis can feel against his shoulder. “He was watching it when he first met Lou, and now they’re in love and she’s pregnant and stuff,” Harry explains, pointing to the girl sitting beside Tom on the couch. Her hair looks white from here but Louis’ not sure if that’s her actual hair color or if the dark is making it look like that.

“And _stuff_ ,” Louis repeats, because for some reason he finds that funny.

“It’s gonna be a girl,” Harry says, even though Louis never asked.

“Yeah?” Louis replies. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, her name’s gonna be Lux,” Harry says, looking out at the living room again. Louis glances up at him then, watching the way the side of his face looks bright under the reflection of the television screen. Louis feels the way Harry loves Lux already.

“Do you think he’s right, then?” Louis asks, hating the way he has to shout over the music a little bit. His head feels dull right now, dull and hazy. He sort of wishes they could go back outside. “Like, about it being magic?”

“Dunno,” Harry grins at that, shrugging. “Crazy magic, maybe.”

“Styles!” Someone yells suddenly, and then a man that Louis doesn’t know is coming into view, standing right in front of them with a grin on his face. He’s the older guy, the one Harry was talking to earlier, and he’s got dark hair and a beard and a puffy navy blue jacket. “Where’d you run off to? Thought you’d be heading back to Grimmy’s party.”

Harry has to yell over the music. “Nah, I let him know I was leaving. I’ve got, like, six missed calls from Leigh-Anne, though.” Harry pauses. “This is my new mate Louis, by the way,” he adds, glancing over at Louis with a little smile on his face. “Louis, this is Ben.”

Louis nods towards Ben, smiling. “Nice to meet you, man.”

He’s always been quite shit at the introduction stuff. Good thing he’s got a drink.

“Louis,” Ben smiles, eyes flickering back and forth between them before settling on Louis, finally. In the dark, he’s kind of hard to make out, but someone with a sparkler stumbles by and lights up the one side of his face, and suddenly Louis has the whole picture. Ben says, “Is Harry being good to you?”

“Nah,” Louis grins, raising his voice. “Keeps trying to kiss me and stuff. It’s an admirable effort, but—”

“ _Louis_ , you fuck!” Harry laughs, and Ben ends up laughing, too. Harry shoves Louis’ shoulder. “I’m gonna call you Lewis for the rest of the night, just for that.”                                   

“Jesus, H, you’re bold tonight,” Ben says, smiling wide. Louis likes him. “I’m a bit sad that we haven’t made it to that level in our friendship yet, to be honest.”

Harry laughs, the sound almost lost to the music. “Can’t force it, Benjamin. Gotta let it come naturally. Like me and Louis, for example. We just kind of happened.”

“We did not _happen,_ ” Louis says, eyebrows raised. He looks to Ben, as if to clarify. “Nothing has happened.”

“Dunno about that,” Harry says slowly. He grins at Ben. “Louis kissed me at midnight, did you know.”

“That doesn’t count,” Louis says, his widening. “You _asked_ me to, what was I supposed to say—”

“Oh, I dunno,” Harry says, sarcastic. His smile is ridiculously big. “I’ve heard about this two letter word in the dictionary. Starts with an N, ends with an O. You might know it—”

“ _Alright_ ,” Ben says, shaking his head. He’s got a beer bottle in one hand, and he takes a small swig of it before waving his hand at them. “Don’t think I’m drunk enough for this conversation yet, so I’m off. You two kids have fun. Harry, I’ll see you in eight months. Louis, run while you can. Happy New Year’s, lads!”  

Harry laughs. “Bye, Benny. Have a good year. Stay handsome.”

“And humble,” Louis adds.

Ben’s laughing and turning away before he pauses, turning back to them. “Oh hey, you wanna come play a game with us, actually? The more the merrier and all that.”

Harry and Louis look at each other. They shrug.

☆

In the kitchen, as if he needs to, Ben explains the rules of Hide and Seek.

Everyone’s gathered around the island in the middle of the room, so Louis and Harry stand to the side of the doorway where there’s less people and it’s easier to breathe. The moonlight turns everyone into shadows.

“Listen up, children,” Ben starts, clapping his hands together. “This is how it’s gonna work.”

☆

Louis follows Harry’s laughter all the way up the stairs.

“Come on, Lou, come _on_ ,” Harry says, voice hitching as he laughs, tugging Louis up by the hand. The stairway is narrow, and they have to stick to one side as they go up because people are coming down in the opposite direction, holding beer cups in one hand. Most of them have to turn so that their backs are against the wall. Ben’s voice echoes up from the kitchen— _one hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight_ —and suddenly Louis feels like he’s a kid again, like he’s running through his grandparent’s house in the countryside, every room branching off into another and then another and then another.

“I’m right here,” he says, a bit late, but he’s smiling ‘cause he can’t even help it.

It’s quieter up here, but it’s just as crowded. A bunch of people push past them as they make their way down the hall, everyone looking for a place to hide, and it’s just as dim as downstairs but somehow Louis can see things better. There’s a window at the end of the hallway that’s letting moonlight in, and Harry’s silhouette is lined in silver as he moves in front of Louis. The nape of his neck is right there, and it looks warm, and that’s distracting, so Louis forces himself to look away.

“Where are we going?” He asks, not thinking about the way his voice comes out sort of soft and full of laughter.

Harry glances back at him, grinning. Half of his face is lit up by moonlight, the other still lost in the dark blue dimness. “Shh, Lou. No questions.”

“Baby,” Louis says, rolling his eyes as he pushes past Harry, leaving him behind to follow. He hears Harry’s laughter in his ears, right there, somehow loud over the music that floats up from downstairs, and he ignores the way it makes his belly go warm. “Come on, you fuck, or I’ll hide somewhere without you.”

“You would never,” Harry says, right behind Louis. “Try that door.”

Louis rattles the doorknob as they pass it, but it’s locked, so he just keeps moving. There are sepia-toned photographs framed on the wall, and the wallpaper is floral and antique-looking. Louis wonders who this house belongs to in the summer-time. A few people stumble past them, and Louis can’t believe how many fucking doors are up here—it seems like the place just never ends, like it just keeps going on, and he catches glimpses of people as he passes by them, their faces drenched in hazy blue moonlight. Some guys are holding sparklers, because apparently none of the lights work up here, either, and when they pass by Louis it’s almost too close: so close it’s just the golden spark, the hiss of light, and the heat, too warm against his face.

“Oh, check that one,” Harry says, pointing.

Louis rattles the doorknob, surprised when it opens. In the slice of space between the door and the doorway he sees nothing but darkness, but he steps inside anyways, letting Harry follow him into the room. Once the door shuts behind them, it’s pitch black and the music sounds kingdoms away. It’s so dark it’s almost _heavy_ -looking, and there are either no windows in here or they’re curtained off.

Louis feels his skin prickle and he glances around, but he sees nothing.

A second later, Harry’s footsteps move farther away.

“Harry?” He whispers, even though he knows nobody will hear him. “Where are you?”

“Right here,” Harry says, his voice coming from the other side of the room, and suddenly moonlight is rushing in as the curtains covering the window fall away. Harry’s a blurred silhouette against the glass and outside, the sky is pale blue, but it’s the kind of pale blue that still means night-time. It’s a heavy kind of pale, all full of snow.

“That’s better,” Harry says, turning to face Louis with a smile. “What would you do without me?” 

“Die, probably,” Louis says, looking around the room. “Except not.”

It’s still dim but it’s way easier to see, everything in the room edged in silver. There’s a bed right in front of the window, moonlight draped in squares across it, and there’s an empty bookcase and a night stand, an old picture frame. Parts of the room are lost in shadow, but for the most part, it’s not too hard to make out. It’s also not hard to see that there’s nowhere to hide. Everything is right out in the open, and for some reason Louis is getting anxious. Footsteps keep passing by outside.

“Where the hell are we supposed to hide?” He asks, frowning. “Under the bed?”

“Nah, we won’t fit under there,” Harry says. “It’d be a tight squeeze.”

Louis sighs, looking around the room. He notices a door across from the bed.

“Come on,” he says, crossing the room and pushing the door open. It’s dark, and when he peers inside he realizes that it’s a bathroom, which is surprising because he’d been expecting a closet. This is much, much better. He glances over his shoulder at Harry, who’s still standing at the edge of the bed, half drenched in moonlight. “Hurry up, let’s hide in here.”

☆

After shutting the bathroom door behind them, Louis leans back against it and listens as the music becomes even farther away.

It’s small in here, a kaleidoscope of shadow and moonlight.

The walls are wooden, a mirror hanging up above the sink, but other than that there’s nothing but a toilet and a lion-foot bathtub. It’s turquoise, like sea-foam, and Louis thinks of the ocean.

“Should we just hide here, then?” He asks, watching as Harry moves across the small space. The moonlight in here is dim and water, and Louis’ suddenly wishing that he grabbed a sparkler while he was downstairs so he could seebetter. There’s a helium balloon floating by the window, catching light. “Unless you want to try shoving yourself under the sink, but I’m not quite sure that you’ll—”

“No, let’s hide in here,” Harry says, stepping towards the bathtub. Just as he does, he moves right into a square of moonlight, and it hits him, turning him silver. His face almost looks blue as he pulls back the shower curtain. Silver and blue balloons spill out of the bathtub and Harry groans, shaking his head. “Oh, god. Come help me with this, would you?”

Louis laughs and crosses the bathroom. “People get so festive. It’s disgusting.”

“Makes me sick,” Harry teases, grinning sideways at Louis. The side of his face is brightened by the moonlight coming in through the window, and the rest of him still looks dark blue. Louis blinks, momentarily dazed, and then Harry’s turning away to grab a handful of balloons. He tosses them over towards the door, and Louis watches them as they move slowly through the air, falling to the ground, bouncing, soundless.

It’s just them, the empty room, and the moon.

Downstairs, there’s the music, the sparklers, and the smoke. Lovers in a dark room, watching space.

Harry’s leaving in just a few hours, and it’s weird how they don’t even know each other but at the same time they _do._ How at the same time, Louis’ looking at Harry and he’s seeing something he’s never seen before but is somehow so familiar with. He feels good right here, he feels great, and that’s more than he’s been able to say in a long time. He likes not knowing where Harry’s going off to in the morning, isn’t quite sure if he cares that Harry is leaving yet, but it’s like he’s some sort of astronaut—just kissing off into the air. And tomorrow, the next day, maybe months from now, Louis will think of Harry and he’ll see winter. He’ll see Christmas lights shining on a soft face. The noise of the pub. The noise of the snow. He’ll see a frozen beach playing on a loop, white and blue and silver, and then the black sky, the outer space, the space inside.

Once they get all the balloons out of the tub and onto the floor, Harry sighs, placing his hand on his hips. “Alright, get in, pal.”

Louis sighs. “Is this really necessary?”

“Hey, stop ruining the game,” Harry says, grinning. “Go on. Get in.”

Louis rolls his eyes at that, but he climbs into the tub anyways because he figures it’s the one thing that will please Harry right now. He’s not sure when he started caring about pleasing anybody, but he tries not to think about it too much. Honestly, he drank quite a bit downstairs and the world right now still seems pale blue and hazy around the edges, so it’s not exactly like he’s in his right mind. Shaking his head, Louis lowers himself down into the bathtub, first onto his bum and then onto his back, feeling Harry’s eyes on his face the whole time.

Footsteps pass by outside, sounding close but far away, somehow.

Louis watches the ceiling for a moment, the way the moonlight plays across it, and then Harry’s stepping into view. He’s grinning down at Louis, smile wide. “Aw, look at you, baby. Lying on your back for me.”

“Oh, god,” Louis laughs. “You wish, man. You wish.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Harry smiles, laughing softly as he climbs into the tub. Louis thinks he sees a towel slung over Harry’s shoulder, but then Harry’s sliding the shower curtain shut again, blocking out the moon. Instantly, everything becomes dim and shallow-sounding. It’s like Louis’ seeing the impression of Harry before actually seeing him, so he keeps his eyes on the place where he assumes Harry’s face is hovering above him in the dark. “Look, I’m a ghost,” Harry laughs, his voice sounding close but muffled as he kneels down by Louis’ feet.

Blinking, Louis lets his eyes adjust to the dark. “What?”

Harry just giggles again, he giggles like a fucking child, and Louis wants to roll his eyes but he ends up smiling instead.

In the dim-light, he can make out enough of Harry to see where he is in the bathtub—he’s positioned over Louis on all fours, by his feet but crawling upwards slowly, slowly. He brings warmth with him, and he’s got a thin white towel thrown over his head.

“Holy shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Louis laughs, resting his hands beneath his head as he watches Harry travel up the length of his body. It’s not suggestive or anything, but he can feel Harry’s warmth spilling out into the space between them and he suddenly feels like it’d be much easier to breathe if he wasn’t wearing this stupid winter coat. But he is wearing it, and it’s freezing in here so there’s no point in taking it off, like, at all. Harry’s hovering right above him, his hands on either side of Louis’ face. Grinning, Louis shakes his head slowly. “Can you even see through that?”

“Yeah, I can still see you,” Harry says, sounding proud. “ _Boo_.”

Louis smirks. “I don’t buy it. You’re too nice to be a ghost.”

Harry laughs, the sound muted a bit by the towel hanging in front of his face, and he lowers himself down so that he’s sitting, straddling Louis’ legs. His warmth pours over everything like a wave, and Louis is the shoreline waiting. Harry says, “I’m not always this nice.”

“No?” Louis asks, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Harry shrugs, and Louis kind of wishes that he could see what Harry’s face looks like right now. “Sometimes I’m nice, other times I don’t say anything. There are different levels that I put people on.”

“I see,” Louis nods, watching Harry’s face—or where he assumes Harry’s face is, anyways. There should be a window above the bathtub but instead there’s just the inky blue darkness, the small space making it seem like their voices are coming from everywhere all at once. Against Louis’ lower back, where his jacket’s been pushed up, the cold porcelain of the tub is a shock. “What level am I on, then?”

“Oh, man,” Harry laughs softly, his body a steady weight over Louis’ thighs. “You’re on the same level as the moon to me.”

“You are so full of shit,” Louis says, but he’s grinning. He feels dizzy.

Harry chuckles, backing away a little bit. He’s still sitting over Louis like Louis’ a throw pillow or something, but his face isn’t so close anymore and he’s a bit easier to see. The music from downstairs is shaking through the walls and Louis can’t make out any of the words but he likes the slow sound of it, likes the way it seems to wash in through the gap beneath the bathroom door. He can’t believe they haven’t been found yet. For a second he wonders if anyone’s still looking for them, but then again, the house is so big and there are so many people, he probably just has to give it some time.

“You know,” Harry says, voice slow. He kind of mumbles when he talks, Louis realizes. He’s pretty sure it’s not a drunk thing. Harry’s just a mumbler, and he’s saying, “People are always asking me, they’re always saying, hey, what’s it like to be dead, Ghost? And I tell them, well, I don’t _feel_ dead, everybody. I just feel a different sort of alive.”

“Well,” Louis asks. “Do you haunt people?”

Harry shrugs, laughing a little bit. “Only the people I like.”

“Right,” Louis nods, not liking the way he doesn’t seem to have control of his mouth right now. He keeps grinning, just a small upturn of his lips, and it’s weird how Harry can see him but he can’t see Harry at all—just the white towel, the darkness, the sound of footsteps in the hall. “Well, I’ve never met a ghost before,” Louis says, “so this is nice.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. The word comes out sounding slow. “I appreciate that.”

Louis grins, not sure if it’s the cold making his toes feel numb or if it’s Harry’s cutting off the flow of blood to his legs, but either way, he stays still, saying nothing. His arms are still crossed behind his head, and Harry is heavy over his legs, burning like a furnace. Still, the heater in the house is off and the air feels cold enough to shatter, so Louis wouldn’t mind having Harry a little bit closer, but he doesn’t know how to ask for that.

Harry comes anyways.

“I’m cold,” he mutters. His hands are back on either side of Louis’ face again, and he’s leaning in, the end of the towel dropping down and brushing against Louis’ chest. “I can’t feel my bloody mouth.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re a ghost now,” Louis suggests, and he has no idea why he’s humoring Harry like this, but something about the way Harry laughs and shakes his head makes Louis feel warm inside. Lit up. “Why are you laughing, mate?” Louis asks. “You’re dead, there’s nothing funny about that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, and Louis can almost see the way Harry’s sobering up beneath the towel, forcing himself to keep a straight face. “You’re right. This is terrible. You think you can do something for me?”

Louis thinks about that. “Dunno,” he says. “Depends what.”

Harry laughs softly, all warmth. “Just bring me back to life, would you?”

For some reason that question makes Louis’ eyes widen, just a little bit, because hell—that sounds like the same thing he’s been wanting everyone to do for him for days, weeks, months, and now he’s here, and Harry’s here, and his hands aren’t shaking at all.

“I’m not sure I know how,” Louis says, and the words sound too honest in his ears.

“Come on,” Harry says, a low murmuring sound. His voice is muffled against the towel, but Louis seems to hear him loud and clear. “You can do it, you’ve just gotta put your mouth on me. You’ve gotta put it right…” He leans in closer, points a finger at the place where his mouth must be. “Here.”

Louis frowns, but he ends up grinning when Harry leans closer.

“Will you even be able to feel it?” He asks, and he wonders what he looks like right now, staring up at Harry in the dark. He knows what he said outside the pub, knows that he said he’d never kiss Harry again, but this is harmless. Harry’s dressed up as a ghost and Louis can’t stop smiling, and he needs something else to do with his mouth. Plucking at the bottom of Harry’s towel, he says, “You’re a ghost, after all. You probably haven’t been kissed in a long time.”

A beat passes before Harry speaks. “You better hurry, then. Before I float away.”

Louis shakes his head, but he’s grinning as he takes one hand away from the back of his hand, reaching up, around, placing his hand on the back of Harry’s neck. He thinks he drank too much. The vodka is making his head spin and whirl, and the towel—soft and fuzzy beneath his touch—annoys him.

He can’t help wonder what Harry’s skin feels like right now, if it’s warm underneath.

“C’mere, dead boy,” Louis says finally, pulling Harry down towards him.

Harry laughs suddenly, the sound blurred against the towel, but he stops as soon as Louis’ mouth presses against his. He makes a little humming sound, pressing back. It’s weird having the towel between them ‘cause they’d be kissing right now if it weren’t for that, and that’s so fucking strange to realize. Louis’ not sure how to react to it, but his body feels warm with Harry pinning him down to the bathtub floor. He keeps his mouth closed, pecks Harry again once, twice, three times, before pulling away.

“How was that?” Louis asks, his arms back at his sides again as he looks up at Harry.

“Good,” Harry says slowly, his face hidden behind the towel. He sounds like he’s smiling though, words loopy and strange. “I think I can feel my toes again.”

Louis laughs, and he doesn’t even hear it when the bathroom door opens.

It’s so sudden, and out of nowhere there’s a voice shouting,“Found you, fuckers!” And then there’s the crinkling of the shower curtain, a hand reaching in and turning on the tap, and it all happens so fast, a blur of light, and Louis blinks as the roof opens up, rain pouring down into the bathtub, freezing cold, iced mist spraying down over their clothes.

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Harry shouts, leaping up and stumbling out of the tub.

Louis laughs, dazed—it’s not the rain, it’s just the showerhead—and he follows Harry up, flicking off the tap before climbing out onto the tile again. Thankfully, he’s mostly dry still—he just got hit by the spray a little bit, but that’s fine—and Harry’s using the towel to rub over his face, his hair, his shoulders.

“Come on, Louis, let’s hide in the tub,” Louis mimics, voice high pitched even Harry’s voice is very, very low. “Cheers, Curly. Idea of the century.”

“Fuck off,” Harry grins, rolling his eyes. “I almost got soaked just now.”

“And who’s fault would that be?” Louis asks, rolling his eyes when Harry just grins. It’s quiet for a moment, just the two of them standing a few feet apart with the moonlight feeling heavy between them, and then Louis’ distracted by a burst of colored light outside the window. Blinking, he makes his way towards it, stopping once his forehead is resting against the frosted glass. “Oh,” he says, “look at that.”

Harry’s there in less than a second, their shoulders touching as they look out the window.

Outside, it’s snowing little flurries and the sky is pale white, which is strange considering its past midnight. The beach is a blur from here, but there are fireworks going off along the shore—sparkling bright blue and electric pink.

Harry hums, knocking Louis ‘shoulder with his own. “S’really nice.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, watching the fireworks explode again and again and again. “It is.”

☆

The game of Hide and Seek is still going on when Harry and Louis get downstairs.

They don’t stop, though—they just keep moving, wading through the sea of dancing bodies as the Christmas lights wrapped around the banisters turn faces into nothing but blurs of rainbow light. Louis follows Harry down the narrow hallway, past the living room and then into the kitchen where they head straight towards the sliding glass door, both of them moving outside and leaving the party behind them.

The cold air hits him like a punch.

“Shit, it’s cold,” Louis hisses, teeth chattering as he slides the kitchen door shut behind him.

The sky is heavy and white, thick flurries of snow tumbling down towards the earth. Thousands of them blur together, and the patio furniture is all blanketed in ice. From here, Louis can make out the frozen beach in the distance. He can still hear the way the waves crash roughly over the shore before pulling back and rushing in again and again and again.

It makes him think about that movie he watched with Zayn once, the one about the couple that kept on forgetting each other, and he thinks that the beach looks a lot like that:

Hazy blue, ocean white, the waves a distant moan.

“Oh, come on, big boy,” Harry grins, his voice full of laughter. “Can’t handle a little bit of snow?”

Louis makes a face, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you actually just call me _big boy_?”

Harry laughs, but he doesn’t say anything. He just wiggles his eyebrows before turning away and hopping down the porch steps, the icy slush crunching beneath his booted feet. Louis watches Harry from the top step, noticing the way that he seems like a dark spot against the pale white horizon—

“Do you want to touch me, Louis?” Harry asks, the corner of his mouth turned up. He’s wearing his beanie again, and it makes him look like a kid. Louis rolls his eyes which only makes Harry laugh. “What? S’not _my_ fault that you’re looking at me like you wanna touch me.”

Louis blinks, taken aback. “ _Bullshit_ I’m looking at you like I wanna touch you. I’m looking at you like you’re an idiot, ‘cause you are.”

Harry grins, pursing his lips. “Am not.”

“Am not,” Louis mimics, making his voice go all strange and high pitched, even though he knows Harry doesn’t talk like that. Harry rolls his eyes and Louis laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way across the porch, the wood creaking beneath his feet, and then down the steps, feeling Harry’s eyes on his face the whole time. He tries not to react to that, to the feeling of being watched, but his mind is slow and sort of blurry at the edges, the same way it always is when it’s winter and he’s cold and half way to drunk.

For a moment he’s not sure if being alone with Harry is a good idea.

“You think you’re funny,” Harry says. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah, actually, I pride myself on the fact,” Louis replies, nearing Harry. It’s just the two of them out in the yard, the snow thick at their ankles, and the world right now sort of feels like a bathtub—something deep but too shallow to swim in. Nothing’s out here, just a big frosted tree that everybody’s parked their cars under, and the windshields are all covered in thin sheets of snow. Turning back towards Harry, Louis raises his eyebrows. “How old are you, again? Fourteen?”

“Eighteen,” Harry says slowly, mouth quirked up again.

“Ah, eighteen. Of course,” Louis grins, standing right in front of Harry now. They stand like that, Harry’s back to the ocean, and it’s far away but it still seems so close. In the air, Louis’ breath is white. “You’re still a baby, aren’t you? What do they call you in school? Haz? Hazzie Poo?”

Harry just shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Neither.”

“Neither?” Louis repeats, eyes wide. He shakes his head. “Their loss.”

It’s weird right now, ‘cause it’s three hours past midnight but the sky is pale like an igloo, and Harry stands out against it. He’s too close, and his cheeks are flushed from the cold, dark curls poking out from underneath his beanie. He looks warm, and Louis’ hands are freezing right now. This whole night is messing with his sodding head.

“You’re doing it again,” Harry says, smiling wide.

Louis blinks, confused. “Doing what?”

Harry shrugs, looking back towards the house like he’s uninterested. The porch light makes the side of his face look yellow, and Louis notices that he’s grinning, small and soft against the heavy white sky. He’s got a dimple in his cheek. “Looking at me like—” Harry starts, turning back to face him.

“Bloody _hell_ ,” Louis says, cutting Harry off with a burst of laughter. “I swear to god you’re fucking high, like. I don’t even know. Are you high? Are you alright right now?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Harry groans, collapsing back into the snow like he’s been pushed. Snow is tumbling down from the sky above, and Harry’s laying sprawled out on the ground with his navy blue jacket rucked up a bit, showing the pale stretch of skin between his waistband and his shirt. Louis almost wants to touch him. “I’m not high,” Harry says, frowning as he blinks up at Louis. “I told you already. You make me feel weird.”

“Get up,” Louis says, looking down at him. “You’ll freeze like that.”

“I’ve got to cool down,” Harry sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes.

His knees are bent so that only his feet and his bum are on the ground, and when his legs fall open a bit, Louis has to fight the urge to look away. He sort of feels dizzy just from seeing Harry like this, spread out on the snow. He can still feel the warm weight of Harry’s mouth against his, warm and searching.

He can still feel the way it felt in his chest.

“It’s cold already,” Louis says, because this is stupid. Harry is stupid.

“Not in my head,” Harry replies, like that makes any fucking sense.

Louis just rolls his eyes at that, looking off towards the beach again. He can’t be bothered with Harry at the moment, and he can’t be bothered with the way his hands just want to reach out and _touch._ In the distance, someone is wearing a bright red jacket that’s so clear from here, it’s the only color Louis can see for miles and miles and miles. The frost of the shore is tinged blue, and the waves look white and frothy. He wonders what it’d be like to swim right now, what it’d be like to just wade out into the ocean and let the water close over his head for a little while.

He figures that’d be dumb, though. Something Harry would do.

Glancing back towards Harry, Louis realizes that the kid’s really not going to get up by himself. He’s like a little kitten or something, and it’d be amusing if it wasn’t freezing out here, if his teeth weren’t chattering, if his hands were warm. Music is still trickling out from inside of the house, the porch light dripping out into the night like honey. Louis sighs internally before slowly dropping down in front of Harry.

The snow is a shock against his knees.

Not saying a word, Louis shuffles forward a bit so that he’s kneeling between Harry’s bent legs, and then he lowers himself down to get closer, and then closer, placing his hands on either side of Harry’s head. Harry must notice something, either the heat or movement or noise, because his arm slips off of his face, over his head.

He blinks, eyes soft and out of focus on Louis’ face.

“Hey,” Louis says, voice soft like he’s talking to a child. He’s not sure why he doesn’t just drag Harry off the ground and get on with his life already, but he doesn’t. Something about Harry forces Louis to be soft. “Wake up, you.” 

“No.” Harry closes his eyes again. “I’m sleeping you out of my head.”

Louis’ eyebrows raise, his eyes travelling over Harry’s face. Like this, the moonlight makes Harry seem bright even against the snow, a spotlight trained right on his face. The veins in his eyelids look angel blue and his cheeks are still pink, mouth bright magenta. Louis thinks he might remember this. Even if he tries not to, he might remember this. He doesn’t say that out loud, though.

Instead, he forces himself to sound amused. “I’m in your head already, am I?”

“Feels like it,” Harry replies, eyes still shut. “Gimme a second.”

“Only a second?” Louis asks, lips quirked up as he watches Harry’s face. Fuck, he looks really warm right now, and Louis’ not even sure how that’s possible considering the fact they’re both lying in a snow pile. “That’s insulting, man. I feel like it should at _least_ take an hour.”

Behind them, the sound of the porch door opening and closing again floats out into the night, and the music from the party gets louder before falling away again.

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Shh, no talking. I’m almost there.”

Louis moves closer, still bracketed in between Harry’s bent knees. His hands are numb and so are his toes but for some reason he doesn’t stand up. He just stays there on all fours, letting the cold seep into his jeans, and firecrackers are going off somewhere on the shore. There’s the distant sound of voices shouting _Happy New Years!_

But that’s so far, that’s so far, and Harry’s right here.

Louis doesn’t think about it. He just leans down, movements slow, and he presses his mouth to the space between Harry’s eyebrows. It’s fucked up how softly he does it, like he means it as something more than a joke. He can’t explain his thoughts at all right now—they’re just swimming around in his head, getting lost in the dark, and he grins when he feels Harry’s eyebrows furrow beneath his mouth.

“Hey—” Harry starts, and then Louis’ travelling up a bit, kissing Harry’s forehead. It’s warm. Harry exhales, voice coming out like he’s annoyed. His eyes are still shut. “What are you _doing_?”

And even though he’s freezing, Louis feels a spark of heat in the tips of his fingers, in the slope of his spine. It’s been so long since he’s wanted somebody, and Harry’s nothing, technically he’s not even a friend, but there’s something about him that makes Louis feel like they’re only six feet beneath the moon, something about him that makes Louis feel closer to the stars, not so far, not so a million miles away.

“I’m helping you,” Louis grins, because this is supposed to be a joke. “It’s no fun for me, just waiting.” He doesn’t lift his mouth off of Harry’s face, just drags it down the bridge of Harry’s nose, liking the way the skin is warming his mouth up a bit. Harry’s breath is soft, a wet spot against Louis’ face, and Louis doesn’t _know_ what he’s doing. He’s being stupid, he’s being so, so stupid—he’s not even making sense—and above them, the snow is falling down, down, down. “Go on, Haz,” Louis says, words muffled as he kisses Harry’s cheek. “Get me out of your head.”

Harry sighs softly when Louis kisses the dip above his upper lip, and that shouldn’t be—that shouldn’t make Louis’ belly go warm like it does, and it really shouldn’t make his head spin, make him forget where he is for a minute. But it does. It does.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Harry frowns, blinking his eyes open. They’re bright green, narrowed, and trained right on Louis. “This is funfor you, isn’t it?”

“Not really, no,” Louis replies, but he ends up laughing when Harry huffs and rolls his eyes, turning his head to the side. “Well, what do you want me to say, Harry? You want me to say that I like kissing you? That I like touching you? It’s not gonna happen, mate, I’m telling you now.”

Louis likes this, being able to joke around with someone. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so light headed and dizzy in the best way, like this night could go on forever and he wouldn’t mind. It’s been so long since he felt like he could _talk_ and he’s not sure if it’s because of Harry or because he knows that Harry’s leaving in a few hours. It’s like writing into a journal, speaking into a voice recorder. He’s a void of space that soaks up all the sound.

A second later, Harry says, “Well, you haven’t kissed me yet. Not really.”

“Oh,” Louis says, watching the side of Harry’s face. “So it doesn’t count if I do it like this?” He asks, his words almost a mumble as he leans in and kisses Harry’s ear, pathetically soft.

It’s so fucking crazy having his lips on someone’s face like this, so close that he can feel Harry’s breath in his ear. He has no clue what’s going on with him right now, he really doesn’t.

Harry shakes his head, exhaling a little. “Doesn’t count.”

“What about this?” Louis asks, voice low as he kisses Harry’s chin, his eyelids, his cheekbones. Harry makes a small sound in his throat, the hand above his head clenching into something like a fist, and _shit_ —Louis’ actually surprised by how much he wants this. “Come on, Haz, tell me it counts,” he says slowly, resting his forehead down against Harry’s. The world becomes close-up, their heartbeats loud like they’re just echoing back between the two of them, and Louis stares at Harry as Harry stares back, gaze hooded. His eyelashes are wet stars. Louis breathes out, shuffling closer—he doesn’t let their hips touch, doesn’t know what he’d do if their hips touched—but his voice gets more desperate, sounding strained as he places a kiss beside Harry’s mouth again. “I want it to count.”

“Then _kiss_ me,” Harry says, whining like a kid. Louis can’t believe he likes that, hates how interesting he finds it. Shaking his head, he pulls back, and he’s surprised when Harry follows him, mumbling, begging,  “Come on, Louis, come on, just—”

“Hey,” Louis laughs, cutting Harry off with a hand over his mouth. His head feels fogged.

Harry blinks, and Louis can tell that he’s frowning without even seeing his mouth. His breath is puffing out warm against Louis’ hand, and Louis isn’t sure what to do now, when Harry’s watching him like he’s waiting for an answer. The sky is still so white, but it’s tinted blue.

It’s like the whole world is an ocean, and they’re drowning in it.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m having a hard time right now?” Louis says, and the words are slow, cautious.

Harry’s mouth moves against Louis’ hand. “A hard time doing what?”

“Everything,” Louis replies honestly, taking his hand away from Harry’s mouth, taking his body away from Harry’s body. Harry licks his lips, almost instinctively, and Louis has to look away because his head is clearly not working right. He stares at the cars parked over by the tree, as if he’s talking to them instead of to Harry, as if he can’t feel Harry’s eyes against the side of his face. The sky is so blue. Louis shrugs. “I sort of locked myself in my flat for a bit, actually. Haven’t talked to any of my mates in a while.” He pauses. “Well, until tonight. And I screwed it up, ‘cause I left early.”

“Why’d you do that?” Harry asks, sounding curious.

Louis glances back at him. “Which part?”

Harry seems to think about it. “Lock yourself in your flat.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Bad break up, mostly,” Louis answers. “And I felt—I don’t know. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I still don’t.”

Harry frowns, slowly sitting up and pulling his knees up to his chest. “Sorry, mate. That’s shit. I’ve never had one of those before.”

Louis makes a face. “You’ve never had a bad break-up?”

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head, and for some reason he looks sad. “I’m still friends with all my exes. I don’t think I was in love with them enough.”

“It’s not even about being in love,” Louis says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. The snow is seeping into his jeans as he sits facing Harry, and he can’t feel his body but he can feel his heartbeat—fast, slowing down in his chest—so he reckons he’s alright for now. He also realizes he must sound like a dick, telling Harry that he locked himself in his flat over a bloody _break-up_. Louis sighs. “I mean, I did love her, but it wasn’t that. It’s just. It was the only thing in my life that was sure, even if I wasn’t sure of it. Does that make sense?”

Harry’s quiet for a moment before smiling. “It does, actually. Makes a lot of sense. Sort of like my band.”

Louis’ mouth tilts up. “You’re not sure of your band?”

“Nah. The lads I’m with, they’re all a bunch of shitheads. We’re called White Eskimo.”

“That’s a shitty fucking band name, Harold,” Louis says after a moment, and he thinks he must still be a little bit drunk because the world seems to have slowed down in his ears. The waves sound farther away than they did just a second ago, and now it feels like the moon is touching the tip of his head. He feels lit up, and Harry’s just watching him with this creepy as fuck smile on his face, so Louis laughs because he can’t even help it. “So fucking shitty. You’ll never go anywhere with that band name.”

“You’ll never go anywhere with that _face_ ,” Harry laughs, and then: “Hey, you wanna do something fun?”

☆

Louis frowns. “How the _hell_ is thissupposed to be fun?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, sounding genuinely confused as he hops up onto the hood of a car, his booted feet slipping over the snow-covered metal. It’s an old looking Volkswagen, dark green in the dim light, and Harry’s standing on the top of it looking like a silhouette against the white sky. Whoever owns it left the sunroof open, which was very stupid on their part. Harry grins, raising his arms up at his side like a bird. “This is amazing.”

Exhaling sharply, Louis shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and glances into the distance. The beach is just a frozen blur, looking small, a million miles away, but he can still hear the sounds of the waves crashing over black rocks, close-up like a heartbeat. He glances in the other direction, back towards the house, and he kind of likes the way that all of the windows are lit up gold against the darkness. Music is trickling outside, muffled and far away, and there are a few people smoking on the back porch now, but Louis doesn’t know any of them.

Still, their cigarette tips are lonely planets in the whiteness.

“Oh, come on,” Louis hisses, glancing back at the car. “Get the fuck down, Harry. You’re gonna get us arrested.”

Harry laughs at that, and the sound of it is strained as he hauls himself onto the top of the truck. His movements are muffled as he crawls over the roof of the car, booted feet banging over the metal. The snow is falling down heavier now, slanting sideways. It’s getting hard to see.

They’re right underneath the big tree with snow-covered cars parked all around them, so they’re blocked a little bit from the house, but still. Louis’ heart won’t slow down in his chest, and he really doesn’t feel like spending the rest of his night in a jail cell.

“I’ll leave you if you don’t come down,” Louis shouts, crossing his arms over his chest. The backyard door keeps opening and rattling shut behind them, the music getting clearer before washing away. Louis’ just counting down the seconds until the person who owns this van comes outside and beat the bloody crap out of them. Honestly, he has no idea what Harry’s thinking, but even though he’s saying a bunch of shit right now, he’s not sure if he could actually bring himself to leave. Frowning up at the roof of the car, he realizes that he can’t see Harry anymore. “Alright!” Louis calls. “I’m walking away!”

“Hey!” Someone says, and the word is really muffled.

Louis freezes. For a halting, blinding moment, he thinks _this is it, I’m gonna be locked up_ —but then there’s the sound of a fist pounding on glass, and he glances down and realizes that Harry’s now inside the car, grinning at Louis from behind the frosted passenger window.

“Oh my god,” Louis breathes. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Harry laughs at that, but Louis doesn’t think that he can actually hear anything from inside the car. The snow is making things between them hard to see so Louis steps forehead a bit, wiping snow off of the window with his sleeve so that he can see Harry more clearly. Behind the glass, Harry’s watching him with a small smile and it’s stupid but it feels like they’re so close, even though Harry’s sitting inside the car and Louis’ standing outside of it, the snow tumbling down onto his head.

“Hey,” Louis says, slowly. “Come here.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, confused. He’s shouting. “What?”

Louis nods towards the tree behind him. He’s not sure why he’s speaking so softly. “Come here.”

Finally, Harry gets it, but he doesn’t listen to Louis, of course he doesn’t. His eyes light up and he grins slowly, shaking his head. Louis blinks at that, frowning as he watches Harry shuffle back so that he’s sitting in the driver’s seat now, even farther away.

“What are you doing?” Louis frowns.

Harry shrugs and pats the passenger’s seat. He’s smiling, the little shit.

Louis’ pretty sure it takes him an hour to get into the car.

“Ow, fuck, I think my body is broken,” he groans, climbing in through the sunroof, feet first. Snow is matted onto his hair, the front of his jacket, the knees of his jeans, and his hands are numb so he cups them in front of his mouth, breathing into them as he shuffles backwards to rest back against the truck doors.  “I can’t feel my face.”

“On the bright side,” Harry laughs. “I’m here.”

He’s still sitting in the front of the van but he’s turned in his seat so that he’s facing Louis, and Louis’ suddenly aware that it’s just the two of them in here. He’s got no clue who this van actually belongs to but it’s quite cozy, actually, as much as he won’t admit that out loud. There aren’t any seats in the back, either. A bunch of afghan blankets and quilts are laid out on the floor and they’re making Louis’ bum feel a lot less dead, which he appreciates.

Narrowing his eyes, he says: “It’s actually not that bright of a side.”

“Rude,” Harry says, mock offended. Laughing, he turns away, rummaging through the glove box in the passenger seat. Louis furrows his eyebrows, but he’s not even going to bother asking why Harry feels like searching through a stranger’s car is a good idea. He really doesn’t want to know. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know much about Harry at all. He just knows that he’s got a dumb last name, that he’s in a band, that he has a few mates that happen to know Louis’ mates, and that he’s leaving in the morning. Also, he’s got a nice mouth.

Suddenly, Harry says, “Hey, look what I found.”

Louis glances towards the front seat. “Huh?”

Harry turns, shining something right into Louis’ face, and it’s as bright as a small moon. Flinching away from it, Louis hisses “Shit, put that down, Curly, what the _fuck_ —”

Harry laughs, holding the flashlight up to his chin. “Boo.”

“Damn it,” Louis laughs, blinking the stars out of his eyes. He rubs at his eyelids, trying to bring everything into focus, trying to make everything not so bright. “What you trying to do, blind me?”

Harry’s doing that creepy smiling thing again, and the flashlight is brightening his face from the bottom up—his eyelashes are casting web-like shadows across his cheekbones, the light slicing up into the dark and pooling in a circle on the roof of the car. Outside, the snow is spinning down even faster now, bright and electric against the darkening sky, and Harry’s just watching Louis with a small smirk, half of his features lost in shadows.

Louis shakes his head. “Anyone ever tell you that your stare is intense?”

“S’not my fault you can’t handle it,” Harry grins. He sticks the flashlight into his sleeve and the white artificial light ends up spilling out from where his hand’s supposed to be, bright and dizzying. Pointing it at the window, Harry guides his hand through the air and the light cuts a sharp line through the dimness. “Look,” he says, voice soft. “It’s a lighthouse.”

Louis smirks. “It doesn’t even look like a lighthouse.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows, still smiling. “Doesn’t have to _look_ like a lighthouse to _be_ a lighthouse,” he says, and before Louis can say anything to that, Harry’s shutting off the flashlight and tossing it into the driver’s seat. The sunroof is still open, flurries of snow falling into the space, and Harry’s voice is strained as he climbs into the back of the van. “So. Can you feel your face yet?”

Louis doesn’t answer right away, distracted by the way that Harry’s standing with his arms up, fingers trailing across the roof as he walks. He lowers them, shrugging out of his jacket, and Louis’ about to say something about that but then Harry’s stretching upwards and tossing his coat out over the sunroof, blocking the wind.

“What?” Louis asks, brows furrowing.

“Your face,” Harry explains, smiling. “Has it come back to you yet?”

“Oh,” Louis says, finally understanding. He feels the tightness in his cheeks, the way his teeth are still chattering in his mouth, and it’s strange because it doesn’t _feel_ like it’s that cold but his breath is fogging in the air so it must be. “Nah, not quite. Give me a minute.”

“Let me help,” Harry says softly, shuffling closer on his knees.

Louis rolls his eyes, pushing himself off of the truck doors so that he’s sitting right in front of Harry, cross-legged in the dark. The blankets are bunched beneath them, moonlight stealing slowly over the walls. Louis can feel Harry’s eyes, the way they’re heavy on his face, and he’s surprised by the way his voice comes out steady. “What, you’re a doctor, not a ghost now, are you? What if I’ve got frostbite?” Louis raises his eyebrows when Harry grins. “Oi, this is a serious medical situation, Curly. You better not mess about.”

“I’m trying to help you,” Harry says slowly, mouth turned up at the edges. “I can fix it.”

Louis just grins at that, watching Harry as Harry crawls in a bit, their bodies so close that the space between them turns warm all at once. Louis keeps his legs crossed as Harry kneels with his legs spread, one knee on either side of Louis’ legs, and he’s only wearing his jumper over his flannel button-down, his jeans dark and wet and ripped at the knees. Louis wonders for a moment if he should take off his jacket, make it easier to breathe and move, but then Harry’s placing a fisted hand against Louis’ cheekbone. Louis stills.

“How about that?” Harry asks, soft. “Can you feel that?”

Louis shakes his head, pretending. It takes a moment for his words to come out straight. “Think I’m frozen.”

“Alright,” Harry says slowly, laughing a bit. His breath is a warm spot against Louis’ chin as his fist unfurls, the other hand coming up to cradle Louis’ other cheek. Before Louis can even laugh or move to get away, Harry’s got both of his hands on either side of Louis’ face, thumbs brushing soft over his temples. “Tell me what you feel.”

Louis’ whole body goes warm at that. He blinks, though. Says, “Nothing.”

“Shit,” Harry laughs, green eyes crinkling. They look like firework shows in the dark. Behind his head, right out in front of the windshield, the beach house sits frozen in the distance. It’s lit up by Christmas lights, rainbow stars that twinkle blurrily in the dark. Harry hums, and Louis glances back at him. “It’s worse than I thought, Lou.”

“Fuck that,” Louis says, mock offended. “You’re a doctor. Fix me.”

Harry giggles at that, his eyes lit up. Louis grins, and Harry-his hands still cradling Louis’ face-says, “Hold still for a second.” Louis rolls his eyes, but doesn’t move. He just kneels there as Harry’s hands trail down his face, warm and soft and dry. Louis shuts his eyes when Harry’s fingers pass over them, but then he blinks awake again when Harry’s hands travel lower, thumbs resting on either side of Louis’ mouth. Louis breathes softly, his mouth parting a little bit as he focuses on the feeling of Harry’s thumbs pushing down on his lower lip, just barely.

Warmth spreads through his body like a tide.

Words muffling themselves against Harry’s fingers, Louis says. “How is this gonna-”

“Sorry,” Harry groans, dropping his hands. He looks embarrassed, almost like he didn’t actually mean to do that, and Louis’ trying to ignore the way his heart is beating on his tongue but it’s hard when Harry’s looking at him like this, green eyes flickering between Louis’ mouth and Louis’ eyes. Harry clenches his eyes shut, the moonlight washing in through the window coloring him silver-blue. He opens them again, pupils blown wide, and he frowns at the empty space above Louis’ shoulder. “Sorry,” he says again, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s just you’re right there and you look so good and I’m not really sure what to do with my hands right now.”

Louis exhales sharply, a huff of laughter. The van feels smaller than it did just a second ago.

“Put them back on my mouth,” he says. Harry blinks up at him, confused, and Louis grins. “Come on, Haz. Do it before I die of frostbite over here.”

Harry still looks confused, but he shuffles closer again, placing his hands back on Louis’ jaw. They’re warm, dry. Harry’s thumbs brush over Louis’ bottom lip, and Louis’ mouth is suddenly full of stars.

Harry raises an eyebrow at Louis, as if to ask, _is this okay?_

“Hey, none of that, mate. You’re the doctor here,” Louis says, his mouth moving against Harry’s fingers. “Don’t wait on me to tell you what to do.”

This is stupid, Louis realizes. This is very, very stupid.

Harry’s close, he’s too close, and it shouldn’t be this hard not to want. 

“Alright,” Harry says slowly, and he’s smiling a little bit but he’s doing it in a confused way, like Louis’ the one being crazy here. Louis’ mouth quirks up, and he’s watching Harry as Harry watches his mouth, keeping his thumbs on Louis’ bottom lip for a moment before moving his hands down, thumbs brushing over Louis’ throat. All of a sudden, Louis can hear his heartbeat, can feel it on his tongue, a distant pulse. “Um,” Harry says. “Let me just—”

And then he’s darting forward, hesitant and clumsy, his nose bumping against Louis’ chin, the side of his jaw, ending up buried somewhere at the side of Louis’ neck.

“Oh,” Louis breathes, forcing out a laugh. His body suddenly feels heavy. “What are you—”

“’M warming you up,” Harry mumbles, mouth brushing over Louis’ skin in a kiss. Suddenly, Louis feels warm, and he wonders why he’s letting this happen. It’s an idiotic thing to do, letting Harry kiss his neck like this, but it’s still just a thing. Harry’s practically a stranger, even though it doesn’t feel like that right now with his mouth opening up against Louis’ neck, sucking too soft to leave a mark. Louis feels like they’re the only two people that exist. The whole world is centered down to this van, to this feeling, to the dimness and the space between their bodies, bursting with moonlight. It’s a strange feeling, strange and calm and heady, and Louis feels like if he were to climb back up out through the sunroof right this second, there’d be nothing left but stars and space and snow.

“Can you feel that?” Harry asks, and Louis’ trying not to react.

Hell, it’s been so long since he’s been this close to anybody, and Harry’s mouth is warm and slow against his neck. Louis exhales slowly, tilting his head a bit to give Harry more room and why, _why_ ,does he do that. Harry exhales soft against Louis’ neck, biting down gently on the pulse there. It’s all heat, all at once.

“I feel it,” Louis says, voice tight. He tries to laugh. “Harry, I feel it, you can stop now—”

Harry pulls away with a laugh, his cheeks red. “Just trying to get your blood flowing. That’s all.”

“You’re giving me a fucking hard on, is what you’re doing,” Louis sighs, half-joking as he runs a hand down his face. Everything feels so hot. He really wants to take off his coat but he knows that the second he does, he’ll regret it. Even though most of the sunroof is blocked off by Harry’s jacket, cold air is still rushing into the van through the gaps, frosting the windows and making Louis’ mind feel thick and heavy.

“What?” Harry asks, eyes widening a little bit.  “Am I really?”

Louis shakes his head, laughing. It’s so strange how Harry acts like such a child about these things. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m actually very, very easy,” Harry grins, still kneeling in front of Louis. His hair and body are all shadow, darkness on darkness, and Louis can just make out the lines of him, but then of course his warmth is here, close up and dizzying.

“I don’t know why I-” Louis starts, and then he pauses for moment, because he doesn’t even know what he was planning to say. He licks his lips, watches as Harry catches the movement, and then he shuffles towards him, placing a hand on the back of Harry’s neck. Harry blinks when Louis knocks their foreheads together gently, faces so close that their noses brush.

Harry swallows and says, “I reckon I might miss you if you kiss me again.”

Louis doesn’t smile. “If you miss me,” he says, “then that’s your fault.”

At that, Harry grins, and then Louis can’t even help it. He pulls him in, and when their mouths meet it’s like the whole world powers out. It feels electric, like all the light on the planet is buzzing through Louis’ veins instead of somewhere else, where it’s supposed to be: in the city, on a television screen. Harry breathes out, and the sound is soft and small against Louis’ mouth, humming through him. He backs away a bit, dazed, and he almost laughs when he notices the way that Harry’s lit up by moonlight, face looking silver in the dimness.

That’s fucked up, that’s so fucked up, how even the moon wants to be buried inside of him.

“Louis,” Harry says, and now his hand is on the back of _Louis’_ neck, warm and steady. “Louis, c’mere-”

“Shut up,” Louis mumbles, right into Harry’s mouth this time. “I’m right here.”

Harry chuckles, and Louis drinks down the sound of it, kissing Harry harder.

“Come here,” he breathes, his turn, and he knows that’s unfair because Harry’s as close as he can get but Louis wants him even closer. Harry nods, breathing out a shaky _yeah_ into the kiss when Louis places a hand on his hip, right under the soft fleece of his sweater, pulling him closer. The air is thinning out and Louis hears firecrackers going off outside but he just keeps kissing Harry, again and again and again, until it’s wet, until Harry’s tongue is slipping out of his mouth and Louis’ sucking on it, stupid, needy, desperate. He pulls away again and Harry makes a little, annoyed sound at the back of his throat and it’s the hottest fucking thing Louis’ ever heard in his life, but he doesn’t say that, he just kisses Harry extra hard to shut him up.

Harry’s mouth tastes like peppermint and his lips are slightly chapped, but Louis likes them.

He’s already hard, which he’d be fucking embarrassed about if he couldn’t feel Harry pressing into his hip. They keep kissing, kneeling in front of each other, their hips thrusting in and out, in and out, in and out. There’s no rhythm to it at all and yet Louis’ so ridiculously horny, so fucking turned on that he can barely take it. The friction makes him groan and then Harry laughs into his mouth, tugging on Louis’ hair.

“Ow,” Louis hisses, pulling back to grab at his head. “Not that hard, Harry, jesus.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, but if he’s grin is anything to go by, he’s not sorry at all. His voice is soft as he tugs at the hem of Louis’ jacket. “You want me to pull your hair softly, then? You’d like that?”

“I won’t stop you,” Louis says, but he’s so turned on that he can’t even talk straight.

Harry grins and slides his hands up into Louis’ hair, scratching gently at the back of his skull. The van windows are frosted and Louis’ jacket is making it awkward to move, so he doesn’t move. He just stays still, kneeling there and sighing lowly as Harry plays with his hair. It reminds him of having his hair washed in a bathtub and the silence feels heavy and sleepy and warm but Louis’ so hard, he’s so pathetically hard, and Harry’s hands on his head are making his whole body shiver.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, voice low and warning. His throat is dry. “Fuck, stop that.”

“Thought you said you wouldn’t stop me,” Harry giggles, his forehead resting against Louis’. Their hips brush together and it’s too much, it’s way too much. Harry says, “You like this, don’t you?” Louis rolls his eyes, but he has to hold back a moan when Harry leans in to kiss his mouth, again and again and again. “Come on, Louis, tell me you like it. I want you to.”

“I like it,” Louis groans, his whole body buzzing as Harry sucks on his bottom lip. Harry backs away, his hand suddenly on Louis’ inner thigh, and Louis laughs hysterically the way he always does when he’s not sure how to handle a situation. “Fuck you, I like it, alright, I fucking like it—”

“And I like you,” Harry says, chuckling like he’s made a good joke or something.

Louis makes a face, and he’s about to say something but then Harry’s pulling away from him, collapsing down onto the quilted blankets the same way he collapsed into the snow pile outside. Louis blinks, frowning a bit as he watches Harry in the dimness. He’s laying with his head a few inches away from the back of the front seat.

Louis shakes his head. “Why did you—you can’t just kiss me and then go away.”

“I’m right here, come touch me,” Harry grins, spreading his legs a little bit. “You wanna suck me off, Lou?”

And Louis knows Harry’s joking around, he knows that, but still. Something about the way Harry’s looking at him right now makes his jacket feel a little bit tighter, makes it feel like the moonlight pouring in through the window is something they could drown in.

So he kneels down, crawls forward on all fours until he’s hovering over Harry’s body.

“Harry,” Louis says, pinning both of Harry’s wrists down on either side of his head. “Baby,” He moves a little closer, so close Harry’s face blurs out a little, so close their noses brush, lighting sparks. Like this, Harry’s eyes are bright green and amused beneath the moonlight. “Do you even understand how badly I want to suck your dick?” Louis asks, thumbing at the insides of Harry’s wrists. Harry breathes out softly, and the sound goes straight to Louis’ cock, heat pooling in his lower belly. His voice ends up coming out too soft, too serious, as he says: “It’s actually my one goal tonight, you know, to suck your dick.”

And fucking hell, Louis still doesn’t understand how the night ended up like this, he really doesn’t.

“Oh my god,” Harry laughs, sounding half aroused and half embarrassed. “Shut up.”

“Hey, none of that,” Louis says, letting go of Harry’s wrists. “Keep your hands above your head,” he says, and then he backs away, crawling down the length of Harry’s body to kneel between his legs before slipping a hand over his jeans, palming at the space between his thighs. “I wanna suck you off, H. Let me do it.”

“Fuck—” Harry breathes, his hips jolting off of the van floor.

“Oh, so you’re all talk, are you?” Louis asks with a grin, palming Harry’s crotch still. Harry’s hard and the blood in Louis’ body is rushing down, down, down. “You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

“I can take it,” Harry bites back, his voice strangled as Louis’ thumb rubs over the seam of his jeans.

“So you’ll be fine if I suck you off, then? You won’t mind?” Louis asks, his hands moving from Harry’s crotch to the waistband of Harry’s jeans, tugging a little. He thumbs over Harry’s hipbones, saying: “You can tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

“I’m a grown boy, Louis,” Harry says, narrowing his eyes. His cheeks are flushed. “I can deal with a little bit of dick sucking.”

Louis laughs. It’s so funny how seriously Harry’s taking this, acting like Louis’ actually challenging him to something. “Oh, right,” Louis smiles, pulling Harry’s jeans down his thighs, letting them pool at his ankles before tugging off Harry’s boots, taking Harry’s jeans off all the way. He spreads Harry’s legs open again, lays down between them. “Of course you can.”

“What are you—” Harry starts, propping himself up on his elbows, but Louis shushes him.

 “Quiet, you,” Louis says. “I’m trying to concentrate down here. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, so.”

Louis swallows. Harry’s boxers are tented with arousal, his thighs thin and bracketing Louis’ body on either side, and it’s so fucking hot that for a moment Louis wonders how he expects himself not to remember this. It’s been a long time since he’s touched anybody the way he’s touched Harry tonight, so there’s this small part of him that actually cares about doing a good job. Frowning, he moves forward to press his mouth against the fabric of Harry’s boxers, lips opening up around the head of Harry’s cock.

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes, his head falling back a bit.

Louis looks up, keeping his mouth on Harry’s dick as he grins. “Fuck off, I’ve barely touched you.”

Harry just breathes heavily at that. Louis has to fight to urge the laugh, but instead he shakes his head, pulling back to tug down Harry’s boxers—down his thighs, down his calves, off his ankles. Harry’s cock is there, hard and leaking against his thigh, and Louis swallows, just looking at it.

“Mate,” he says after a moment. “You’ve got a pretty nice cock.”

“Thanks,” Harry replies, and the way he sounds out of breath makes Louis flush all over.

He lays back down, getting comfortable between Harry’s legs, and the smell of him his heady and sort of dizzying. Jesus. Louis’ actually about to suck Harry off. Like, right now. And even though he’s saying it in his head, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it. He’s not sure how he feels about it, doesn’t even want to _think_ about how he’ll feel about it in the morning. All he knows is that right now, Harry’s breathing is shallow but loud against the silence, and he’s watching Louis with a hooded gaze, half of his face brightened beneath a bar of moonlight.

When Louis doesn’t do anything, Harry starts saying, “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Louis says, and before he can think anything else, he dips down and sucks the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Harry exhales, the word torn and drawn out.

Louis hums, realizing that sucking a dick is a lot more difficult than he remembers it being. Harry’s longer than he is wide but it’s still a lot of strain on Louis’ mouth and on his lips as he sucks, keeping his head still and just working Harry’s cock with his tongue a bit, getting the hang of it.

“Oh god, I take it back,” Harry breathes, sounding hysterical and dizzy as he squirms his hips. Louis’ eyebrows furrow and he sucks harder, trying to keep Harry’s cock in his mouth, but Harry keeps being weird, half-moaning and half-laughing, wriggling around like he’s trying to pull away. “I take it back, Louis. I can’t handle it, I can’t handle it—”

Louis pulls away, and Harry’s dick hits his bottom lip as he frowns. “Bloody hell, would you stay still? I’ll end up biting you in a minute.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, but he’s still squirming around like a fucking lunatic. “Sorry, it’s just. That felt really good. Really, really good.”

Louis makes a face. “Then you need to _really, really_ stop moving so I can back to it. Can you do that for me?””

“Yeah, I can do that,” Harry nods, still propped up on his elbows.

He’s watching Louis’ face, the corners of his mouth tilted up, and for a second Louis wonders what he looks like right now—he hopes the moonlight isn’t on him, because he can practically feel the way his face is red. He feels strange and horny and desperate, and doesn’t understand why he likes this so much, why the thought of getting Harry off is something that makes his head spin.

Rolling his eyes, Louis shuffles forward again. “Try not to come in thirty seconds, yeah?”

Harry laughs, huffing out a little _I’ll try,_ and then he’s quieting down as Louis wraps his hands around the backs of Harry’s thighs, keeping his legs spread open, keeping him still. His cock is laying red and leaking against his lower belly, and Louis leans in, sucking Harry back into his mouth again.

“Oh my god,” Harry whimpers, rolling his hips a little bit as Louis sucks harder.

He’s heavy on Louis’ tongue and the heat builds and builds inside of him as he licks Harry’s cock, sucking down hard on the head of it, pulling away to kiss his thighs, his hips, going back to his cock, licking, licking, licking, sucking him down. It’s messy and wet and Louis’ spit is getting everywhere—nothing worse than a dry blowjob, in his opinion—and his mouth is already aching but Harry’s moaning, he’s full out moaning into the silence, loud and breathy and slow.

And that’s getting Louis even _harder,_ for fucks sake.

He shuts his eyes, focuses on the feeling of having Harry in his mouth like this, and he thinks about his flat—about the quiet darkness and the dizzy static light, the television room bathing his bedroom in blue. He wonders about what it would be like to spread Harry out on his bed and fuck into him, maybe let Harry have a turn fucking him, but then he makes himself stop thinking about it.

That’s bullshit, thinking he’d be able to handle this for more than just tonight.

He says that, and yet his hips are thrusting down into the floor of the van like it can do something for him. He’s grinding down into nothing but the blankets, making small sounds around Harry’s cock as he sucks harder, harder, listening to Harry as he comes undone.

“Louis,” Harry says, voice short and frantic. “I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Louis replies, and he’s not sounding any better. His voice is wrecked as he pulls away, kisses up the length of Harry’s dick. His nose brushes against Harry’s lower belly as he murmurs, “Do it, H, come on.”

And then it’s only a few more seconds until Harry’s coming, breathing out a shaky _oh god_ as his body tenses and then loosens up again. Louis crawls up again and collapses down onto Harry’s body, kissing his mouth hard, both of them breathing heavy through their noses as the snow spins outside, bright and electric against the pitch-black sky. Louis almost feels like he’s trapped under ice but it’s not a panicky feeling at all—he feels fucking good, like he could stay here forever swallowing the sounds that Harry’s making, grinding down into Harry’s already-spent dick just to give himself friction, just to get himself off. He’s riding Harry’s bloody thigh and this is not something he usually lets himself do—ever—but he feels alright right now. He feels more than alright.

His body tenses, and he breathes out, “fuck,” as he comes.

The gaps in his vision are blurred a little bit by Harry pulling him back to his mouth, kissing him again and again and again, just little pecks that make his head spin, that make it hard to breathe.

“Fuck,” Louis says a bit later, almost laughing. “I just came in my fucking pants.”

“You can wear mine if you want,” Harry grins, looking at Louis with warm eyes. Louis’ laying sprawled right him now, his legs slotted in between Harry’s, who’s face is dark blue in the dimness.

“Doubt they’d fit,” Louis says, smiling back. His trails a finger down the bridge of Harry’s nose. “You’ve got freakishly long legs, anyone ever told you that?”

“No, nobody’s ever told me that,” Harry frowns. “Because I don’t.”

“Because I don’t,” Louis mimics, laughing at the face that Harry makes. He’s still buzzing from orgasm, his whole body lit up like a carnival ride, and he’s not sure that he ever wants to move on from this moment. Sighing, he shifts a bit to nuzzle his face into Harry’s neck, pressing a small kiss to Harry’s ear. He might regret it in the morning, but Harry’s giggling like the touch makes him ticklish, and something about that makes Louis feel warm all over. He shuts his eyes with a sigh, and there are galaxies behind them.

“No more talking,” Louis says, his fingers brushing over Harry’s mouth. “Sleep.”

Harry laughs, kissing Louis’ fingers, but he listens. His voice is a soft murmur. “Night, Lou.”

It’s still freezing cold in the van, but Louis’ hands aren’t shaking at all. 

☆

Sometime during the night, Louis blinks awake, his lungs itching for a smoke.

Harry’s lying beside him on his back, and Louis can’t tell if he’s awake or not but the van is filled with the soft sounds of his breathing—a steady in and out that reminds Louis of wave moving over a shoreline.

Sighing, Louis pushes himself into a sitting position before standing up, wondering again who this van belongs to and why they haven’t come out and found him and Harry yet. He trails his hands along the ceiling as he walks towards the sunroof, hunched over a little bit, and the light in the van is blue and watery but he can tell it’s still night-time from the way that everything is silent, dead space.

“Where you going?” A voice says suddenly, and Louis turns back to see Harry frowning up at him. His hair’s all messed up, flat on one side of his head, and it makes Louis smile a little.

“Nowhere,” Louis says, turning away again. “Just going for a smoke. Stay here.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, so Louis assumes he’s gone back to sleep. It’s only a few more steps until he reaches the sunroof, and he pushes back Harry’s jacket and pokes his head outside into the night.

“Shit,” he hisses, wincing as the cold air shocks his skin. The snow is falling down fast now, so fast that it’s slanting sideways, and over the sound of the blizzard there’s the low drone of the ocean a million miles away.  Louis fumbles for his cigarette in the dark and lights up the end of it, surprised when it doesn’t disappear right away. Instead, he watches as the orange glow floats there in front of him, stuck between his steady hands, and he inhales the smoke slowly.

Calmness hits him as he exhales, watching the blue smoke drift off into the air.

He squints off to the side at where the beach house is, tucking his chin down at the cold. Even though it’s probably like four in the morning the house is still lit up from the inside, all of the windows looking like squares of light. Silhouettes move behind the glass, but Louis can barely make them out through the distance, through the snow. The turquoise panelling is bright against the sky, Christmas lights shining baby pink.

And suddenly, Harry’s hand is on Louis’ knee, tugging at the fabric of his jeans.

Man, this boy. Louis’ smirking a bit, lips tight around his cigarette as Harry climbs up his body, up and up and up until his head’s sticking out of the sunroof, too, and he’s staring right at Louis with a small frown.

“Man,” Louis laughs, smoke falling out of his mouth as he pulls the cigarette away. “You really can’t stay away, can you?”

Harry doesn’t answer—he just shakes his head once, a slow tilt to the left. They’re both silent now but the wind is loud, somehow. It rushes at Harry’s hair, making the curls fly sideways a little as he stands in front of Louis, hands at his sides. Everything is pale blue snow. Their eyes meet, flickering between each other’s, and Louis’ mouth is slightly curled up at the sides. Harry’s isn’t, though. He’s got on the most serious expression Louis’ seen him with tonight, and something about it makes Louis’ heart tighten in his chest. And he doesn’t want to deal with that right now, he really doesn’t, so he closes his eyes and exhales smoke before tilting his head back, settling his elbows up on the roof of the car. The snow falling down in flurries feels thick and cold when it hits against his upturned face, his eyelids, his mouth.

There’s a moment of nothing, and then he feels the warmth of Harry’s body closing in on his.

He places both of his hands on Louis’ hips, sliding them forward until they’re tied together behind Louis’ back, beneath his jacket. It’s all darkness behind Louis’ eyelids, but his body feels like a blur of cosmic colours as Harry presses his chest to Louis’, presses his mouth to Louis’ arched neck. He doesn’t pull away, and Louis feels Harry’s curls against his chin.

“It’s cold in there without you,” Harry mumbles, right against the hollow of Louis’ throat.

Louis just squeezes his eyes shut a bit tighter, sliding his hand up into Harry’s hair. He keeps it there.

☆

* A HANDFUL OF MOMENTS THAT HAPPEN  
IN A SNOW-COVERED VAN *

i.

In the quiet, Harry’s voice is loud. “I kind of wish there was a place where everything you want to happen, happened.”

Louis sighs, lying on his side facing Harry. They watch each other as moonlight slips over the van, over their bodies, their faces. Everything is lit up in pieces. “That’d be boring, though.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, grinning. “But I’d be king of the world.”

ii.

“I’ll tell you a story,” Harry says a while later, his voice floating out into the dark. “It’s one of my favorite stories. And you don’t get to say anything until I’m done and you don’t get to laugh, either.”

Louis hums an answer, half-asleep but listening.

Harry starts telling some story, and Louis can’t make out all the words but he’s pretty sure it’s about a vampire that loses its teeth and doesn’t get to be a vampire anymore. With his eyes closed, Louis sees darkness and white snow, a little vampire boy crying in a tree.

“What do you think?” Harry asks, when he’s finished.

“Depressing,” Louis says. “Now go to bed.”

Harry laughs, wild and too loud against the silence. “Fucking _jerk_.”

iii.

“Did you know,” Harry says later, much later, when his voice slurred by midnight and the beach house in the distance is still twinkling, rainbow-colored light. “Did you know that I’ve got a birthmark that looks like Pluto on my backside? Pluto the planet, obviously, not the dog.”

“Obviously,” Louis mimics with a grin, and after a second he raises an eyebrow, propping himself up on his elbows. “Bullshit. Have you actually?”

“Yes,” Harry nods, smiling sleepy and slow. “I _have_ actually.”

Snow is spinning outside, bright white against the pitch black sky, and Louis’ half asleep, all of his words coming out slow and blurred around the edges. Still, though, Harry’s laying stretched out on his stomach with both hands resting underneath his cheek, and the sight of him makes Louis feel heavy, like a hundred times himself. A match burns under his tongue.

“Well, come on, then,” he says, not knowing what he’s doing. “Show me.”

And Harry doesn’t fight that at all. He just moves onto his knees so that his bum is in the air, looking the way babies do when they sleep. He hikes down his pants a bit to show Louis the birthmark sitting just beside the dimple in his lower back, and it looks nothing like a planet but Louis stares at it anyways, brushing his thumb across it softly, so softly. Harry makes a small sound in his throat, laying with his cheek pressed to the floor of the van, right above the blanket. Louis’ kneeling right behind him, now, no clue what to do with himself.

Tiredness makes his moves slow and his words distorted. The moonlight just keeps rushing in.

“Doesn’t look like Pluto at all,” Louis says, his thumb still pressed against the mark.

“Hmm,” Harry says, pressing back into it. “Feels good.”

And the way his voice sounds, _fuck_ ,the way his voice sounds. They’re both half asleep and it’s so easy for Louis’ body to get going like this, for him to want this again, with the little noises that Harry’s making and the way that he’s pushing back into Louis’ hand, insistent.

And Louis would do something about that, he _wants_ to do something about that, but he’s tired. He’s tired and it feels like Harry’s just a second away from falling asleep, so he just pushes Harry’s hips back onto the ground, spreading his legs open. Harry goes easily, the blankets bunched up beneath their bodies, and Louis lowers himself down onto his stomach, resting his cheek against the dip of Harry’s lower back. He’s laying between Harry’s thighs and he’s too tired to care about how fucked up this is, how much he likes the soft feel of Harry’s fleece sweater against his face.

“Louis?” Harry asks, voice hushed.

“Shh,” Louis says, placing one hand underneath Harry’s sweater, drawing lazy sleepy patterns over Harry’s spine. “Go to bed.”

And so they lay like that, with Louis’ face buried in Harry’s lower back, Harry’s face buried in his own arm.

Time slips past them slowly.

iv.

Right before they both drift off for good, someone says, “I want to see what you look like in the summer.”

Louis’ not sure which one of them says it, but it’s the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.

v.

Outside: nothing. Just the soft sound of snow hitting earth.

The way this planet spins is unbelievable.

☆

In the morning, Louis wakes up drenched in pale blue light.

He blinks, wondering for a moment if it’s still night-time, but then he realizes that it’s only dark because he’s still in the van and the windows have been covered in snow. He can’t see outside at all and his breath is coming out white in the air, teeth chattering. Everything looks shades of blue.

It takes a second for him to realize that Harry’s still sleeping right next to him in the back of the van.

Somehow in their sleep they moved closer to each other, and now one of Harry’s legs is slotted in between Louis’, and he’s still burning warm even though the all of the blankets are covered in thin layers of frost.

“Bloody  _hell,_ it’s cold,” Louis says, moving to sit up. Harry’s arm shifts off Louis’ stomach and Harry makes a noise at the back of his throat, his eyebrows furrowing.

Louis watches him for a moment in the dim blue light. His cheek’s creased from the blankets, his hair all messed up and flat on one side, and the sight makes Louis unsure what to do with himself. He’s not sure why, but everything feels different in the glow of morning—it’s like a cold shock, and suddenly it’s like his hands have to stay near his body, they have to not reach out, not touch.

He bites the inside of his cheek, not looking away as Harry blinks awake.

Harry glances up, meeting Louis’ gaze, and neither of them say anything at all. Then Harry's grinning, pressing a small kiss to the side of Louis' belly. "Morning."

"Morning," Louis says, his voice gone a little heavy. Harry's face is nuzzled into his side, just above his hip. 

And then, suddenly, someone’s pounding on the window.

Louis frowns, turning to see Ben peering into the van. He's wiped away the snow, and his face is smiling, a thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Lovely morning to you, lads,” Ben shouts, voice muted on the other side of the glass. There’s amusement in every word. “Get up. I’ll take you to the station. I don't even want to know what the hell you're doing in my van.”

☆

It’s dim on the train, but orange sunlight steals over Harry’s face in flashes.

Louis watches him, unashamed. He’s not even trying to make it look like he’s not staring. The sunlight steals over Harry’s face, hazy and warm even though the train windows are fogged from the cold, and Harry’s eyes stay trained on the world outside. His profile is soft, the lines of his body blurred a bit in the dimness, and he looks soft, too. He’s got a duffle bag sitting in the empty seat next to him and it’s kind of bullshit that he’s leaving, Louis thinks. He’s only leaving the country but it almost feels like he’s leaving the planet, like once he steps off of the train and moves out of sight, he won’t exist anymore.

The air is heavy, tired, but Louis can’t bring himself to close his eyes.

He’s feeling gray on the inside, the same color as the sky. It’s a bit brighter, though, than it was yesterday when he woke up alone in his flat, tea kettle humming and filling up the silence. And even though he keeps thinking about last night, about the moon and the way it seemed to live under Harry’s tongue as they kissed, their bodies moving like UFOs through the dark, strange to touch.

He stops thinking about it. Says, softly, “Hey.”

Harry’s eyes flicker towards his. The side of his face is orange, and he’s grinning, just a bit. “Hi?”

“You look good.” Louis says, smiling. He likes the way he can make Harry grin and laugh without even doing anything, and he wonders if that would change once they knew each other. He wonders if it would take a bit more effort, or if it would just stay like this. Easy. He nudges Harry’s ankle with his foot. “How you feeling?”

“Good, thanks,” Harry says, and he’s smiling at Louis with his eyes lit up. “How about you?”

“Fantastic,” Louis says. “Unparalleled.”

No matter how much Louis feels like time is slowing down, the train keeps moving.

Louis’ eyes flicker between Harry’s, whose eyes flicker between his. It’s fucking ridiculous, the way they’re trying to catch all of each other even though they know they can’t.

“What’s your favorite color?” Louis asks, out of nowhere.

Harry blinks, breathes out a laugh. “Why? You gonna get me something?”

“No, I’m—” Louis starts, but then he grins, rolls his eyes. “Shush, you. Just tell me your favorite color.”

Harry purses his lips. “Blue, probably. What about you?”

“Blue,” he agrees, and then, “Favourite place in the entire world?”

At this question, Harry smiles. “A car when it’s raining,” He says, “When I was a kid, like, first eight years of my life I guess? Back then me and my mum used to take trips out of the city every few weeks to see my grandparents, and every single time we went, I swear, every single time it was raining. Like, crazy rain, you could catch it in buckets there was so much. And I can still remember it, you know. How the rain looked from inside my mum’s car.” He shrugs, looking a little shy, “So. That’s why.”

Louis’ silent for a moment and Harry just looks at him and in the space of that moment somehow the train starts to roll to a stop, and this is _Harry’s_ stop. It comes too soon or maybe not soon enough, Louis’ not quite sure. It’s getting harder to look at him. They’re about two minutes away from the doors opening, two minutes away from goodbye, and Louis has no clue what he’s supposed to be saying right now. They’re both quiet, looking at each other, and the orange sunlight is clementine fizz, spilling over everything.

“That’s a good place,” Louis says finally, because what else is there to say?

Harry grins and stands up, clearing his throat as he slings his duffel bag over his shoulder.

Louis stays sitting. He’s not sure why, because he feels like he should be standing but at the same time, this isn’t his stop. This is Harry’s stop, and the view outside the windows is shifting from snow-covered trees to a snow-covered platform filled with people, too many people. Harry glances down at Louis with a small smile, his hair curly and falling in front of his face, and this is bullshit, how much Louis doesn’t really want him to go.

“I had a good time, Louis,” Harry says softly. “It’s been nice meeting you.”

Louis nods, his arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, you too, mate. Have a good trip.”

Harry smiles, but it doesn’t quiet reach his eyes. People are getting off the train, now, and new people are getting onto it—Louis can practically hear the seconds falling away in his head. Time seems to go fast but slow at the same time and in the weighted silence, there are stars out, dinosaur sounds causing avalanches, and the snow outside has turned into rain—thousands of frosted drops pelting down onto the train windows, dripping down, making the orange light that shines through look watery and pale.

Harry nods once, waving a hand before finally turning away, making his way down the aisle, and it’s—

It’s so strange how quickly Louis _misses_ him, all at once and out of nowhere. He watches the back of Harry’s head as he moves down the aisle, and he doesn’t even think about it before standing up and following after him. “Harry,” he says, but it’s too quiet and Harry keeps walking. Louis stumbles as a few people push past him, their coats wet and rained on, and the next time he speaks, his voice is louder. “Harry, hey, wait up!”

Harry turns at that, looking confused before his eyes land on Louis’.

“Wait,” Louis says, finally reaching him. They’re standing right in front of the doors, and the cold air is rushing in and making Louis’ skin feel tight. Harry’s eyes are heavy on his face and Louis shrugs, because not even he knows how to explain what he’s doing right now. All he knows is that his body feels heavy, that Harry’s hair is already messed up from the wind, and that Louis sort of wants to touch it, run his fingers through it again. “Just wanted to say,” he says, when he remembers how to talk. “That I hope you have a good trip and stuff, ‘cause it’d be shit if you left for eight months and then had a crap time.”

Harry blinks, his mouth turning up.

“Just thought I’d say that,” Louis adds, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So. Goodbye, then.”

There’s a moment of nothing and then Harry’s leaning in, quick, wrapping an arm around Louis’ neck and pressing his slightly-chapped mouth, hard, against his cheek. He leaves it there for a moment, still pressing hard, and then he takes a breath as he steps away, nodding. “Okay, yeah,” He smiles, almost giddy-looking. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“As if I’ll have to try,” Louis says, but his words come out sounding kind of tight. “Goodbye, Harry.”

“Bye, Lou,” Harry laughs, and then he’s turning away, and then he’s gone.

Louis exhales slowly as the train begins to move again.

☆

Later on when he’s back at his flat, Louis thinks about what Harry said, about lighthouses not looking like lighthouses, and then he takes his phone out of his pocket, feeling free like a ship finding shore.

☆

**To: Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik**

**From: Louis Tomlinson**

**_January 1, 2014, 9:17 A.M_ **

_miss you lads LOADS . i’ve been shit, hope we can talk. drinks tonight ? xx_

☆

* EIGHT MONTHS LATER *

* * *

* * *

 

Grinning, Louis props himself up on his elbows, squinting against the sun.

Niall and Zayn and Liam are just specks in the distance, the lines of their bodies blurred by the orange light of morning. Louis watches them, wishing that he’d brought some bloody sunglasses with him so he wouldn’t have to squint like this. Niall’s gonna kill him for getting his towel wet, but Louis can’t really bring himself to care. It’s summer and the sand is warm and Louis feels good. The beach is almost empty since it's so early, and the waves are crashing slowly over the shore. 

He sighs, falling back so that his head’s resting on the towel.

And then there’s someone stepping into view, blocking the sun.

Louis frowns, glancing upwards—and there is, in fact, somebody standing over him, but the sun is making them hard to see. Never mind that, though. They’re blocking Louis’ sun.

“Do you mind—” Louis starts, but then the person’s taking one step closer, coming into focus.

Harry grins brightly, standing out against the hazy orange sky. Louis freezes, staring at him, and all at once he’s remembering New Year’s Eve so long ago, when the whole world was frosted and white. He’s remembering the dimness of the bathroom and the ghost that haunted it, the way the snow-covered van seemed to carry them through the universe. And then, of course, the way Harry’s body was soft and warm against his, the only heated place in the whole winter.

“Hi,” Harry says finally.

Louis blinks, and his voice slow. “Hey.”

Harry nudges Louis’ ankle with his foot. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“Yeah, well,” Louis replies after a moment, his mouth tilting up at the corner before he can help it. “Sorry to shatter that dream.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, lovelies! i'm starseas on [tumblr](http://starseas.tumblr.com/) as well, would love to know what you thought! :)
> 
> the title of this fic was taken from king krule's album of the same name! he's smashing it xx


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